Would Kylo Ren Get Rid Of His Guitar Magazines?

I tried, but I just couldn't do it.

I awoke this morning bound and determined to unclutter my life. I have a closet full of tee shirts that I don't wear, boxes full of toys and other odds and ends, and so many crates of various notebooks and loose papers it's not even funny. "Surely," I thought to myself, "I can live with some of this shit." "Surely," I thought to myself, "I can let go of this garbage and move on."

Among all this detritus were several tubs packed to the gills with years and years worth of guitar and heavy metal magazines. These tomes full of tips and instructions have lain undisturbed for ages, gathering dust and taking up space that could be put to better use. Cracking those tubs open was a bit like taking Bill & Ted's phone booth for a weekend spin. Leafing through each issue brought me back to when I first read it. I remembered who I was at that specific time and where I was in life.

Some of these mags were published back in the 1990s. I was a drastically different individual back then. That was years before I lost my religious faith and stopped going to church. That was before I decided I wanted to make movies and went off to film school. That was back when I didn't consider the New England Patriots an evil empire that cheated their way to three Super Bowls championships in four years.

I have magazines from the early 2000s, when I wasn't listening to a lot of metal, preferring a mixture of smart-alecky guitar pop like Fountains of Wayne, classic rock, and the blues. That immediately changed the first time I heard Lamb of God's Ashes of the Wake album, but for a while, the sword that carries my metal soul rust in its scabbard.

The tsunami of nostalgia was almost overwhelming, but I gathered myself and gritted my teeth. "These are just piles of paper," I told myself. "Yes, I have literally hundreds of memories attached to these volumes of guitar-filled goodness, but getting rid of them doesn't mean those memories will go with them."

And yet, I broke down. I felt my resolve drain away as if it were leaking out the tip of my toes. I realized these magazines were more than just paper. More than just stuff. Each magazine was a tiny part of me. Each issue was a signpost marking the path I've taken to becoming the person I am. This realization blew away any remaining determination within me, and I broke down.

I cried. I cried big, snotty sobs and giant brontosaurus tears. Over fucking magazines. I broke and I piled the magazines back into their tubs and hid them away in my closet again, safe and sound.

Once my treasure trove was once again safe, a wave of disgust washed over me. "Why is this so fucking hard," I pondered. "Do other people have as hard a time letting go as I do?" Wracked by guilt over letting myself down - AGAIN - and nervous about what this failure may portend for the future, I had an odd thought.

Would Kylo Ren have this much trouble getting rid of his old guitar mags?

In The Last Jedi, Darth Vader wanna-be Kylo is struggling. He has a vision of the individual he wants to be but feels his attachment to his past, in particular, parental figures like his mom, General Leia. He chafes under the direction of Snoke, who belittles him for lacking the strength to go full-on Dark Side. Through his communications with Rey, Kylo realizes the only way he can be who he wants to be is to obliterate every last connection he has to his past. Hence this line:

It seems so often that we endow items, articles, and even people with so much incredible importance because they come to define who we are. This pile of magazines represents older versions of me. Thus getting rid of these mags would be getting rid of all those older versions of myself. And that would require letting go.

So, how would Kylo handle my situation? Lightsaber the fuck outta everything in sight then talk to his grandpa's burnt up old helmet? Psychically flirt with a cute Jedi trainee? Or would he put on his big boy pants and kick his guitar mags to the curb? Whatever he did would likely be accompanied by lots of complaining. Ultimately, I think he'd find a way to kill his past and let go those parts of himself.

Great. Kylo Ren, a shit fit-throwing emo bitch with a lightsaber, is more mature than me. He could kill his past. I couldn't.

So here I sit. A guy who cried like a little kid with a skinned knee over a mess of magazines. A guy who can't let go, who realizes he's not the guy he was even last year, but somehow couldn't part with unused garbage that reminds him of who he used to be. How does one let go of his former self? That's probably a question for a psychiatrist, but I'm gonna go a different route. I'mma Google this shit.