Memories or Vanity?

I'm triaging books and journals and papers to decide which things will making the trek to Tacoma, which will be stored at my parents' for future reference, and which will be completely discarded, never to be heard from again. Some of the books have been difficult to place. I have trouble letting go of things I had once assigned value to. I'm trying to be as minimalistic as possible.

Then I came across tons of old journals. And I was faced with a dilemma: do I keep these? Why would I? Am I ever going to want to know what they said? Does it matter now? Will someone else want to know? Would my children be interested? I know when I found some old journals of my mom's, I was completely intrigued by the stories inside. It was entertaining to me. And people write biographies and memoirs from such things. But assuming that I would be biograph-able is vain. Assuming that someone is going to want to know what happened during my college years, my high school years, and those thereafter is a bit pompous, I feel.

The only validating conclusion I have reached regarding their preservation would be the possibility of someone reading about my life and seeing how God used the weak, the poor, the foolish thing (me) of this world to accomplish His purposes, to show His power and what HE alone can do in a life. I don't think my life exemplifies that at this point, but I'm trusting in this process of sanctification. That would make it worth it. Otherwise, they will just take up space and produce clutter.

Any thoughts?