When I think of National Geographic magazine, I think of mountains and mummies and majesty. I think of the Bible, since I’ve always approached the magazine with reverence, thanks to its plethora of fine photographs and its perfect binding. I also think of George Bailey in “It’s a Wonderful Life.” Early in the film, when he’s a kid, he boasts that he’s been selected for membership in the National Geographic Society. 

Well, I was, too. And I can tell you what it’s like decades later, when you don’t throw out any of those precious journals, when you don’t even let your kids cut them up when they begged you to let them. Instead, you held onto the magazines, thinking they were too beautiful to toss, that somebody would want a complete set someday. A library, a nursing home, someplace.

But in a world where you can’t even give away a piano, you certainly can’t interest anyone in boxes of National Geographic magazines. In fact, you can’t even throw them all away at once; they’re too heavy. So we’re getting rid of them box by box. It’s like slowly peeling off a bandage — a painful process. But in the end, we’ll be a little bit freer, a little bit lighter, and these days, that’s what it’s all about.