Tonight I got off work at 3 am. Naturally I couldn’t sleep when I got home (because it’s ONLY 3am) so I showered and tiptoed into the office expecting to go through photos on the computer. Instead I got sidetracked (hello ADD) and I stumbled on a small box of mementos tucked away in a corner. As I sifted through it I alternated between major eye rolling at the lame and pathetic “journal letters” to no one and pangs of nostalgia as I read words of heartbreak, words of love, words I had all but forgotten.
It got me to thinking, how could something so significant, according to the letters anyway, be so insignificant now? As I read the words I had written I had a sense that maybe I had never written them to begin with, that maybe an entirely different person penned those letters.
I was hit with the realization that that is in fact the case. Sort of. I’m not that person anymore. The thought that I was ever that girl astounds me.
That girl wrote silly letters to herself/God/her dead father in a way that is unbelievably embarrassing to read now, but must have felt so poignant in the making. Aside from the fact that her handwriting is marginally familiar, the stories she wrote are completely foreign.
Yes, I do very vaguely remember a time when I felt like I might DIE after I broke up with my first real boyfriend. I can recall distant memories of a girl who survived on not much more than bagels and Mountain Dew for an entire year and still thought she was fat. And sometimes I think about the fun I might have had if I’d just gone out with my friend when he asked me because oh em gee ladies, it would have been a hot summer. But oh the difference it would have made today. (And I’m really happy with today.)
Of all the forgotten things I found in that box I was most surprised at what I felt as I looked through them. Mixed in with the letters of heartbreak and teenage love triangles are badges and awards, school programs, drivers licenses and the like. It’s a little shoebox, and it’s filled with mementos I thought were important enough at the time to save. Thank God that awkward teenage girl thought enough of those items to keep them. She must have known that someday I would need to remember where I was, so I could appreciate where I am.
I’ve begun to catch myself reminiscing more and more about the past. Maybe it has to do with the UN-day-to-day things I see at my job that become day-to-day the more I see them. Maybe it has to do with Avelyn growing up right before my eyes or maybe it has something to do with (GAH!) the ever looming 3-0 coming up next year, I’m not sure. Either way I think I might start writing more about my past. It’s cathartic and yet oh so self mutilating to do so but the more I think about it, I’ve got a story to tell, even if it’s for no one but me.
I think this sounds like an excellent idea. I’m going to bring you a book when i see you in NO. Don’t worry, it’s short and to the point. It’s on writing, it knocked my socks off.
oh man, i’ve had similar moments and thoughts. talk about humbling! i like your spin on why those memories are important.
And just think this blog is doing exactly the same thing. Just think about when your little one is a teenager reading your posts of all the cute things she did…
Kinda had the same experience a few weeks ago when my parents sent me home boxes of *crap* from their basement that I had saved when I was younger. Made me smile and think ‘THAT is what I thought was important 15 years ago?’ WOW, how things have changed…anyway, GET BACK TO WRITING!!! I love your style ( :
Hence, why I have always journaled, so on those realllllllllly bad days, when I feel like slitting the liver spots and standing veins, I can remember that it’s not alll soooooooooooo bad. Maybe after the arguments, the tantrums, the sympathetic wheel of life, maybe, just maybe, there are a few moments of glittery nights, soft tears, prideful moments of ecstacy, and memories that were worth remembering… in.the.end.
We overcome many trials, many adventures that we relic’ed in the moment of “OMG, how did I live through that?”, as well as pathetic embarassments that reminded us we are only h.u.m.a.n! We need those reminders to remind us, we all need one another, if nothing more to remind where we have been, where we are going. Even if it’s in writing.
As many notes as your wrote growing up, I have journals, lots of journals of things I couldn’t share with anyone cause of the privacy of the moment. I hope you relish those boxes of notes, crayon drawings, and little momentos your kids will give you. Eventually you’ll find there is life in them. As life goes on…
Isn’t it amazing how our lives have changed? Incredible.
I do a “look back” at least once a week of the boys and the last 4.5 years. Makes me cry pretty much every time.
You seriously need to write about the past. But make sure you add Hobo in from time to time.