Keepsakes
I realized a brief moment ago (as I was pondering what I'd write about tonight) that I tend to keep things a long time. For example, the scrubs I am currently wearing were 'stolen' for me by my ex-girlfriend's boyfriend when he was a resident. In mid 2003. That's more than six years ago (yes, I know you can do the math) and I'm not certain these things are meant to last that long. The VS panties I'm wearing are from the same era, though I will admit they probably need to be replaced. I also own a really comfortable (and paint covered) sweatshirt that I got my sophomore year of college. In early 1989. That's twenty years ago. Good God Damn! That's a been a few minutes.
Let's see, what else do I have? My favorite jeans were bought for me in May 2002. I still have the UGGs that I bought in Tamworth, New South Wales, Australia in 1988. I have three sweaters that I conned my mom into buying for me around Christmas 2001. I have the long-sleeve race t-shirt from the marathon I ran (and won) in October 1993. I also have my really ugly letter jacket I finally earned my senior year of high school in 1986. I have two pairs of soccer shorts from the mid 1990s. And these are just the things that come to mind. Oh, I also have the dresser my sister used throughout childhood and a coffee table that belonged to my paternal grandmother. I still have the first CD (Psychadelic Furs) I ever bought, with a gift card my aunt and uncle gave me for high school graduation. In 1987.
It's not that I don't throw things away. Every time I make a major move, I donate several car loads of crap to the Goodwill and I sell whatever I can sell. When I finally move officially to Austin, I plan to give away most of my furniture and anything else I deem too unwieldy to move. A nomadic lifestyle requires that you let go of a lot. I've sold or given away couches, beds, tables, chairs, CDs, clothes, knick-knacks, computers, stereos, small appliances, and one snow blower. I don't have sentiment for much. If it's going to be a pain to move, it's got to go.
Now I'm trying to figure out why I keep what I keep. Some, like my letter jacket and old tennis sweatshirt, may be because I just can't let it go. It may also be because it's comfortable or irreplaceable, like the scrubs and UGG boots. I know I keep a lot because I just like it, but I also keep a lot because I'm too damn poor to replace it. I wear my jeans until they have too many holes. The same is true for my workout shorts (one of the pairs of soccer shorts will need to go soon) and t-shirts. I keep the dresser because it's one of the few pieces of furniture tough enough to survive all my moves. It's heavy, but worth the trouble to move it. I acquired a Big Chair a few years ago that I plan to keep and keep and keep.
In the grander scheme, I guess I keep things because I keep things. I like the familiar and I really, really, really dislike change. Plus, I'm just loyal. I'd rather have something old than new. Often I'll buy new things only to keep using the old until it can't be used anymore. I hold on to what matters to me. Maybe that's part of the nomadic lifestyle, as well. When nothing seems the same, you reach for what you know is the same. Like these old, tourquoise scrubs. There's comfort in knowing we've been together for awhile (and walked through our own little corner of Hell together). We've chased a dog or two down the street, eaten Mexican food at El Chico (which doesn't exist anymore), slept next to this girlfriend and that girlfriend, bought dog food at Wal-Mart at 6am, and moved six times. Now we are lying in bed, watching TV, and writing. As dumb as it may sound, I take comfort in that.
Let's see, what else do I have? My favorite jeans were bought for me in May 2002. I still have the UGGs that I bought in Tamworth, New South Wales, Australia in 1988. I have three sweaters that I conned my mom into buying for me around Christmas 2001. I have the long-sleeve race t-shirt from the marathon I ran (and won) in October 1993. I also have my really ugly letter jacket I finally earned my senior year of high school in 1986. I have two pairs of soccer shorts from the mid 1990s. And these are just the things that come to mind. Oh, I also have the dresser my sister used throughout childhood and a coffee table that belonged to my paternal grandmother. I still have the first CD (Psychadelic Furs) I ever bought, with a gift card my aunt and uncle gave me for high school graduation. In 1987.
It's not that I don't throw things away. Every time I make a major move, I donate several car loads of crap to the Goodwill and I sell whatever I can sell. When I finally move officially to Austin, I plan to give away most of my furniture and anything else I deem too unwieldy to move. A nomadic lifestyle requires that you let go of a lot. I've sold or given away couches, beds, tables, chairs, CDs, clothes, knick-knacks, computers, stereos, small appliances, and one snow blower. I don't have sentiment for much. If it's going to be a pain to move, it's got to go.
Now I'm trying to figure out why I keep what I keep. Some, like my letter jacket and old tennis sweatshirt, may be because I just can't let it go. It may also be because it's comfortable or irreplaceable, like the scrubs and UGG boots. I know I keep a lot because I just like it, but I also keep a lot because I'm too damn poor to replace it. I wear my jeans until they have too many holes. The same is true for my workout shorts (one of the pairs of soccer shorts will need to go soon) and t-shirts. I keep the dresser because it's one of the few pieces of furniture tough enough to survive all my moves. It's heavy, but worth the trouble to move it. I acquired a Big Chair a few years ago that I plan to keep and keep and keep.
In the grander scheme, I guess I keep things because I keep things. I like the familiar and I really, really, really dislike change. Plus, I'm just loyal. I'd rather have something old than new. Often I'll buy new things only to keep using the old until it can't be used anymore. I hold on to what matters to me. Maybe that's part of the nomadic lifestyle, as well. When nothing seems the same, you reach for what you know is the same. Like these old, tourquoise scrubs. There's comfort in knowing we've been together for awhile (and walked through our own little corner of Hell together). We've chased a dog or two down the street, eaten Mexican food at El Chico (which doesn't exist anymore), slept next to this girlfriend and that girlfriend, bought dog food at Wal-Mart at 6am, and moved six times. Now we are lying in bed, watching TV, and writing. As dumb as it may sound, I take comfort in that.
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