Living in the past

As we move home yet again, I was clearing up boxes of paper accumulated over the years. The mandate to me was simple, halve the volume as we are moving to a home half the size of our current one (which incidentally is about 2/3rds the size of our last one).
Nostalgia ran through my head as I reminisced about the large sit-out areas on our last house overlooking trees, whose names I wish I had learnt, in a pristine area of the city. Moving to a crowded suburb of Bombay, some of this was already forgone. And moving to another crowded area in Bombay, more would be.
But back to the boxes which contained articles, presentations, concept notes and much creative work of the past years that I had accumulated in perhaps weak narcissist moments that refuse to go away. With a heavy hand reluctantly disobeying a heavier heart, I managed to retain my econometrics achievements while trashing some organization design blah-blah. Trivia such as "in 3500 years of written human history, only 277 have not seen war" was shredded in favor of "covariance (x,y) = E (Ux - Uy) - xbar ybar" and suchlike.
After a resounding success at my mandated result, I now wonder what might be the plausible use of retaining whatever material is retained. Do I want to impress someone, say my daughter, a child of 6 who no doubt has a firm opinion on my character, my temperament, and a fair assessment of "my worth". The rest of my family? they are older than 6 and ostensibly less impressionable. The rest of the world? who will need to be invited home, offerred a nice drink and when drunk out of their wits, papers slunk into their hands which they may not make sense of...
Naah. Forget about the past, I says. Let me diligently write the future on a blog which will, like water, find its own level. Hopefully, someday Google's data servers will not need to run into a smaller home and I don't get a notice to delete some of the posts. Should that happen, however, just tapping the delete button will be a lot less heavier on the heart than shredding reams of handwritten paper.