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Like BlogHer CE Zandria, I'm preparing to move. Way back in January I vowed I was on a mission. October is here and I am finally actually moving. Part of my mission involved getting around to unpacking boxes I have moved around the country with me for years. And going through my boxes is like an epic episode of This Is Your Life.
In opening up and going through the boxes I'm finding bits and pieces of my past through many life stages. Without intentionally creating a time capsule, glimpses of the random ephemera of my life feels like I did.
I look different but, hairstyles, fashion and fluctuating weight aside, much the same and always like me. Like many women I look at pictures of my younger self and think "I look hot!" and wonder why I couldn't see it and only heard the voices disparaging my body and could not hear those who celebrated my appearance. I'm especially saddened when I remember the gulf between what I saw in the mirror and what I can now see. I wonder how much I'm still looking in a funhouse mirror.
I see that I've always had an urge to journal but have never been able to maintain a commitment to the practice. I can tell that by the number of journals I've found with only a fraction of the early pages written upon. What I hope is that I've managed to find some peace and optimism that I clearly could not in my angst ridden youth. I had forgotten that at age 12 I was the editor for my school's poetry and art journal. However, I had not forgotten that I wrote some really dark poetry in those days. Still I cringed when I read my "published" works. I discovered that by the time I advanced to college level classes my oeuvre of poetry along with the addition of song lyrics graduated from dark musings on the human condition to sharply bitter musings on ex-boyfriends. Perhaps if I had kept at it I could have given Alanis Morissette a run for her bitter ex-girlfriend crown.
Another important self discovery is that there are certain lessons I still need to learn. Ones that I found (and had forgotten) I have tried (and failed) in the past and are now coming up again. Hopefully I am making progress and there will not be a next time of this kind of discovery.
Not all my discoveries are cringe-worthy, though. I am delighting in finding and reading the postcards friends have sent me from their travels from around the country and the globe. Remember postcards? I also am reminded that I am so fortunate to have been surrounded by the love of friends and family like on my 30th birthday when I came across a large stack of cards full of well wishes from that occasion. On the side of bittersweet, I've found letters from friends who died far too young but whom I'm grateful to be reminded of the fortune of having had their too brief presence in my life.
I could easily go back to school (and as I dig I'm reminded of just how many years I've spent on book learning) for nothing but the cost of time. I have the voluminous binders of information from every class I took in business school. I have all my materials from the aforementioned poetry (and, classmates, I'm so very sorry) class. I have assignments and equipment from when I dipped my toe in the waters of interior design. I might have exorcised most of my political science materials. However I am delighted that I managed to hang on to my "Little Red Schoolhouse" binder from my Ph.D. days.
Although I no longer actively collect things, I have found that I could easily build well-illustrated shrines to Bruce Springsteen and Chihuahuas. Don't judge - we all have our skeleton-filled closets that create our unique charm.
My family history is also illuminated through my excavations. I've found notes from and articles about relatives who've passed on. The Kwanzaa cards remind me that we used to celebrate much more and now has tapered off almost completely. I've discovered keepsakes that remind me of the ambition and success of my sister. I've found evidence of how my family has flown around the country to come spend time with me when I've moved far from home. And I've found markers that remind me of the ways in which my
