How it Felt to Get Rid of My Massive Music Collection

Three years ago I made the decision to begin living a more minimalist life.

I had reached a point where I felt like I no longer owned my things, but that they owned me. I was paying their rent, covering their moving costs, and providing constant maintenance for their care and feeding by cleaning, organizing and maintaining them.

It all felt pointless, relentless, and exhausting.

It all had to just go.

Worst Things First

Whenever I tackle a project or task, I prefer to get the worst task done first. If I’m looking at my list of to-do’s and one of them is to eat a frog, I’m going to eat the frog first and get it over with so that everything is easier from that point on.

In this case, that meant tackling my music collection. I knew this would be the most painful for me, so I wanted to dive head first and get it over with.

My Past Is Not My Future

Music has been an extremely important part of my life forever. I used to record mixes from WBMX in Chicago and blast them on my boom box in the front yard. I would hang out at record stores and drive to Rolling Stones at 11:00 on a Friday night just to look at what they had and talk to like-minded people. In college, I interned at Q101 and started at B96 upon graduation where I began my music industry career.

Music is a large part of my identity. I felt that getting rid of my music collection would be throwing away part of who I am.

But music isn’t a thing. It’s not an object. It’s not something you can put on your shelf and hold in your hand.

It’s something far, far more ethereal and powerful than a consumable product.

As Dave Grohl sings, “Breathe out, so I can breathe you in.” That’s what musicians do. They get an idea and breathe it out in a song so that all of us can breathe it in and be changed by it in our own way.

You can’t buy that at Target or at your local indie record store. It’s much bigger than that.

Access Over Ownership

Music is a thread that runs through everything I do, which makes it a pretty amazing friend.

It helps me cry when I need to let it out. It is hands-down the best travel companion, always providing exactly what you need at the moment you need it. And it’s always ready to get a party started.

But I don’t need to own it.

With Spotify, YouTube and other streaming tools, I can find virtually any song I want within minutes. I don’t need to pay for every single album. I don’t need to store them. I don’t need to dust them. I don’t need to move them. I don’t have to use resources like plastic to enjoy it. And I don’t have to try to impress you with my amazing music collection.

I need my world to filled with music. But what started as an idea and ended as a feeling, doesn’t need to be consumed as a physical product.

The Process

The entire process of eliminating my music collection took months.

It didn’t need to. I just wasn’t ready to let it all go.

Every night, I would go to the basement and bring up a box of cd’s and go through each one deciding if I should keep it or get rid of it. I would look and listen and reminisce about when I got it, what concerts I went to and think fondly of the people I connected with that album.

I did this for every single album.

For over 2,000 cd’s.

It was tedious, wonderful, painful and necessary. I was saying goodbye to something that I considered to be a huge part of my identity. If I’m not my music, then who am I?

I could have ripped off the band-aid and just donated them all, but I didn’t want to. I wanted to peel it back slowly and and feel every single pull. I wanted to feel the pain of setting something I loved in the donate pile. I wanted to look at my Bjork cd’s and remember the show at The Riviera, followed by a cab ride to Broadway to go dancing. I wanted to look at my Blind Melon cd and think back to meeting them when they were on their way up, before Shannon Hoon met his untimely death. I wanted to look at the cd’s that I ordered from Europe because I had to own everything The Pet Shop Boys ever recorded. I looked at my Garth Brooks cd’s and remembered when he invited the EMI team to his hotel room to meet the 15 of us and how he said goodbye to us by name. I looked at the cd that I played for my now husband back when I was a record rep and he was a music director. The memories washed over me like a waterfall.

Virtually every cd had a story behind it. Either I met them, went to their shows, got their songs played on the radio, hung out on their tour bus, or they just played through my speakers as a soundtrack to my life.

It took months, but once it was done…once I had traveled that emotional road and felt everything I needed to feel, I packed thousands of cd’s into dozens of boxes and donated them all to my local library.

My library now has the greatest collection of cd’s than any other library in America.

What’s Left?

I didn’t donate everything, but I did keep less than 100 of them. I kept my collectibles and my favorites. They fit in one box. I’m guessing that one day, I will be ready to get rid of that last box, but that day isn’t today.

Any Regrets?

None. I thought that I would miss that part of my identity, but I don’t. My love of music and my need for music is just as strong as it ever was, but I no longer feel dragged down by the physical stuff. I have a yearly subscription to Spotify and I discover more new music now than I ever did. Most of my favorite albums are easily available on Spotify.

I lost the objects…not the music.

I’ll never let go of the music.