A literary masterpiece (Provided photo — Amy Cheney-Seymour)

Recently, sorting through stacks of stuff, I came across this literary masterpiece penned by my son.

If you are a parent, sentimental kiddo keepsakes will claim closets, under your bed and shed space. Art work, obligatory purchased school photos, report cards and newspaper clippings are must-tuck-away items.

Just how long does a parent keep perfect attendance awards and Junior Prom photographs? I found the answer right there, in black and white, on manuscript paper. My son’s book summary was profound and adorable, Genius.

I wandered downstairs contemplating prickles, and stuff. I was feeling smug about my lack of clutter, until I saw our pantry.

My grandmothers survived the Great Depression by rocking hungry children to sleep, and it seems that survival instinct is deeply embedded in my DNA. I’m genetically predisposed to hoarding bags of flour, rice, beans and entire forests of canned goods. Our pantry? It’s practically its own zip code. Spinach, carrots, pearl onions, beets and–oh, beans–every kind of bean you could possibly imagine: kidney, black, garbanzo, refried, cannellini, pinto, navy, adzuki. You name it. Nothing soothes my soul like a well-organized, fully stocked pantry. More than one friend said I remind them of a squirrel perpetually preparing for winter.

Don’t we all have our collecting vices? Unless you are a rare minimalist, you harbor some form of hoarding affliction.

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Someday hoarders

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We are all, someday hoarders. You think not? Do you have more than two pairs of underwear? Necessity dictates with one derriere, you need two pairs of underwear: one on ya, and one clean back up. By this litmus, most everyone probably has knicker overload.

And let’s talk about that universal symbol of hoarding: the junk drawer. Our junk drawer looks like the prop sent from Macgyver. Duct tape, gum, a rubber band ball and dozens of sharpies. Under that are four hoof picks, a compass, enough keys to open the love locks on the Hohenzollern Bridge, dozens of buttons, nine bread bag twist ties, mystery charging cables, highlighters and tacks — in case some teacher needs a lesson. Take a peek at yours, any duplicates in there? Erasers, paper clips, cell phones? Gotcha.

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Sentimental hoarder

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Sentimentality talismans are memory anchors, and the gateway to serious hoarding. The instant digitization of our experiences and memories cleared our dresser drawers of photographs, carnival buttons, concert T-shirts and love letters. Remember when your dresser drawers were filled with tangible mementos of your life? Now that every experience is captured in the cloud, or on your phone, you have room for socks and that extra pair of skivvies. This is one category to be proud of!

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Doomsday Hoarders

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Now, if you’re reading this while sitting under the blinding glow of surgical lighting in full combat gear, perched on a 50-gallon water drum with your computer balanced precariously on a crossbow, listening to your ham radio, then — well, congratulations. You might already be too late.

Do you use your Swiss Army knife for nail care? Have you ever fashioned a zip tie into a hairband or used it to fix your glasses? Ordered topo maps and composting manuals via satellite phone? If you answered to any of these, it’s safe to say you’re a candidate for the Doomsday Hoarder Hall of Fame.

But really, why do we hoard? We play the never-ending game. What if I need four spade shovels to cover up a crime I’ve definitely never committed? What if I can’t remember where my family vacationed 10 years ago and must quart the St. Augustine Beach mugs for eternity?

In pondering the word I thought about my friend Bob Seidenstein’s columns, which often take you down fascinating word-origin rabbit holes. The word itself comes from a Proto-Indo-European root meaning It suggests something hidden. Something we keep tucked away. And honestly, apart from mushrooms, we all need a little light to grow.

It’s not just stuff we hoard. We hoard emotions too. Just like the pet hair on fleece, we cling to our prickly feelings. We rarely clean out the emotional cache that’s living rent-free in our hearts and minds. We hang on emotions, especially if we’re feeling hard done by like they’re some kind of secret treasure.

Take my friend, for example, who tells stories where she’s always the nimble and clever heroine, foiling villains with witty comebacks and clever ruses. Yet, somehow, she still can’t seem to make any friends. Or my other friend, who has a special file called –because apparently, that’s where all of his stories begin. He carries anger, resentment and bitterness around like a bad batch of soup, wondering why love and peace have eluded him.

Shaolin Monk Shi Heng Yi once said, Emptying the cup isn’t just about clearing out physical clutter–it’s about clearing out emotional baggage. Those sharp emotions that we feed with every retelling of the same unsatisfying stories. Yes, even that angry memory about the jerk who stole your parking spot.

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Dump the Prickles

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Let go of the grudges, the old sweatshirts, the tarnished earrings–and all the negativity you’ve been collecting like it’s your only hobby. It’s time for a clean emotional slate.

We hoard things, sure. But more often than not, we hoard the emotions that no longer serve us. Here’s equally wise advice from Little Prickles and Shaolin Master: dump the cup and make room for something beautiful.