Emotional Attachment

“You Learn” by Alanis Morissette is one way to approach all of life’s goodbyes, big and small. (Credit: Youtube) Spring has sprung – which means spring cleaning season is upon us. If you’re not sure where to begin, there are plenty of women experts to turn to. Influencers like Chantel Mila have plenty of general cleanliness tips to offer. When diving into organizing, maybe Kayleen Kelly’s 4-pronged method of eliminating clutter appeals to you. Perhaps GoCleanCo’s Sarah McAllister and her hacks will best assist you with your overloaded home. Or, there’s always Marie Kondo’s world-renowned KonMari method of getting and keeping tidy – though even the clean queen herself admits to paying less attention to such matters now that she’s a mom. (Relatable.) Whenever this time of year rolls around, I find myself wondering what gurus like them – and others in general – would make of Bro. Bro, pronounced "Brah," is a toy dog I acquired over 25 years ago. (Calculating the time difference between Bro's purchase and my writing of this introduction is an exercise in what I like to call "hurtful math.") I bought him while strolling the Atlantic City boardwalk as a senior in high school. It was a windy November evening – hardly beach weather, but these walks were customary following All-State Chorus rehearsals, like the one I'd just finished on this particular evening. I’d taken many of them with my friends in years prior, all freezing cold and full of laughs and singing through our favorite pieces from rehearsal as the sun set ... but that stroll stands out (and not just because we accompanied it by singing James Erb's arrangement of "Shenandoah"). Keep or toss? (Don't worry, I'm keeping Bro.) Our spring-cleaning playlist will help you sort that out. (Credit: Candice Helfand-Rogers) My younger self was on the precipice of starting a new chapter – I gabbed louder and swore far more than necessary while carrying this fuzzy, frivolous purchase made with money I’d earned as a part-time grocery clerk. The excitement of "maybe" and "possibly" – and "hopefully" – was so thick, I swore I could reach through one of those frigid ocean breezes and grab hold. Over the years that followed, I’d undergo numerous sea changes, navigate several moves, and take on numerous spring cleaning projects – but Bro remained a surprising constant. Through every job switch; every new love and subsequent heartbreak; every hard lesson learned; every title acquired and lost, from "understudy" and "cub" to "featured soloist" and "editor." And yes, through becoming "wife" and "mom," too. Every time my life shifted, Bro found his stubby-legged way into joining me. Repeatedly grounding me, by mere sight, with his constant presence – while at the same time whisking me back to that crisp, clear late fall sunset and the breadth of possibility that was laid out before our respective sea-green and ink-black gazes. He reminds me that "maybe" and "possibly" and "hopefully" aren't relics of my past, but rather, treasures still on offer to me now. Here's the thing: Scientifically speaking, Bro shouldn’t have made it this far. His mechanized movements stopped ages ago. His “bark” is now a degraded yelp; his synthetic fur is patchy and, frankly, pathetic. The amorphous mystery stain near his battery cartridge might actually be atrophied acid, but I'm too scared to investigate the matter. He is, if I'm being honest, somewhat offensive to all five senses – nevertheless, Bro persists. And when spring cleaning season arrives, I annually wonder: How does one part ways with something that is so beautifully, indelibly connected to a life – yet is, objectively speaking, crap? Don’t ask me, because as of publication, Bro remains in my home. And part of me thinks that’s all right. Maybe it’s even good to hold on to our own individual Bros sometimes – these nonsense knick-knacks that, when found and held once more, bring us back to times and places whose recollection feels good and warm and sweet. Objects that serve as reminders of our ongoing growth, and maybe even make us smirk with pride at how far we've come. But for most everything else whose time has come and gone, as I'm sure the women experts I cited above would remind me, it's probably time to purge. To shed that which no longer fits us; that which brings pain through remembrance; that which we can and should let go of to make room for light and newness. So sure, keep your personal "Bro." But in other cases, it's likely time to let go. To help rid yourself, I've put together a playlist of songs that examine goodbyes and guide us through the process of lamenting, accepting and perhaps even celebrating necessary departures. (As well tunes that might encourage you to actually keep that trinket or t-shirt after all. I'm not a monster.) Editor’s Note: This post, updated for 2026, was originally published April 25, 2023.

Emotional Attachment

14 Songs to Ignite a Spring-Cleaning Spark

The Story Exchange

Emotional Attachment

14 Songs to Ignite a Spring-Cleaning Spark

The Story Exchange

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