Are You A Sentimental Person?


I’m not usually a sentimental person. There are very few things I feel the need to hold onto because I can’t stand clutter. Throwing items away and cleaning and organizing my space is more my style. Now that’s not to say that there aren’t some things I’m very sentimental about, but they are few. I’m sentimental about my children and keep many of the projects, papers, and certificates of achievement from their school years, not to mention tons of photos that were taken before the digital age exploded.
I also am sentimental about items from my wedding that hold special meaning and pictures of special family events. Beyond that, I don’t feel the need to keep cluttering my space with items from the past.

My husband and sons are the opposite. My son has gone so far as to keep the paper wrapping from a straw for some bizarre reason that I’m sure made complete sense to him. I do a lot of covert cleaning when they’re not around and they never miss something I’ve gotten rid of without their knowledge. I wouldn’t ever throw anything away that has special meaning to them, but we would need another house just for their stuff if I allowed them to keep everything.

Are you a sentimental person? What things have sentimental value to you?



  1. I’m really sentimental over pictures from my past or souvenirs I’ve gathered from places I’ve traveled…

    • I love souvenirs too. I don’t have many, but I cherish the ones I do.

  2. I’m definitely sentimental. Everything I keep holds a story and memory for me. Photos and journals are the things I’d never throw out though.

    • Photos and journals are, of course, “must-keep” items!

  3. No, no, there is very little sentimental about.

    • Even though I’m not a very sentimental person, there are some things I treasure and can’t imagine not being able to have the opportunity to look at them and remember.

  4. Simple mental? Sure. Oh, wait. You said sentimental. What do I have that is either pointless, useless, or worthless? Ooookay. A small, blue and white rubber ball I found at the botanic gardens. When I hold it, it looks like the Earth is in my hand. A little plastic tray my mother had beside her bed at her last apartment. A letter opener from Aspen and a cheap plastic cup I gave her. A stone I found on a beach near Camarillo. A magnet and a tape measure I got from a drawer at my father’s office in 1956. I’d asked my mother for his microscope, but she sold it. There’s more, but probably none of this has meaning for anyone but me.

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