Things That Matter to Me, Part III: Pages

One thing that I have learned about myself while contemplating these posts is that more “things” matter to me than I previously realized. It has actually been a bit difficult to narrow my most important possessions down to a few posts. At first, I was not going to include anything that was generic and/or replaceable (like my iPad, which I absolutely love), but some things that are not particularly unique matter to me because of the circumstances under which I came to receive them, or the extent to which I have appreciated them. Books definitely fall into that category, and I have a lot of them. Although I have moved almost entirely to eBooks over the past decade, I still have a small library tucked away in a storage unit in Memphis. I love my books, but I hate moving them (for obvious reasons). Since I tend to move fairly often, there are only a few books that I take with me.

The Big One

As my high school graduation approached in the spring of 1999, my parents told me that they wanted to get me a special gift to remember the event and asked me if there was anything in particular that I wanted. I thought about it awhile and finally decided that there was only one thing that I really wanted: The Complete Works of William Shakespeare. I think I even requested the specific edition that I later received - The Yale Shakespeare: The Complete Works. 

Although I have been tempted as I am a prolific highlighter and margin-note taker, I have kept the pages of this magnificent book exactly as they were printed. I took every Shakespeare course offered at the University of Tennessee, but I always bought trade paperbacks for my courses to avoid marking up my Yale (and carrying it to class). I kept those too, of course. As there appears to be a Shakespearean gene in my family, I also inherited a full selection of paperback Shakespeares after my paternal grandfather passed away. And then when eBay was first starting out (before they had minimums on the auctions), I paid around $25 (including shipping) for a one-hundred-year-old set of 12 hardcover volumes with beautiful full-color illustrations. Unfortunately, they were desperately in need of re-covering when I bought them, and they are still in the same shape. Re-covering antique books is not cheap, so it’s a “down the road” project. 

So, yeah, I have a lot of Shakespeare books, but the Yale is by far my favorite. I love the weight of it, and the silky smooth pages. I like the type, the spacing, the editorial notations. It is a beautiful book, and one of my favorite things.

The Bible

After my friend Christian Soronen died, her mother gave me one of Christian’s bibles. It has a beautiful, black, leather-bound cover, with Christian’s name written on the inscription page. Like all of Christian’s books, it looks new (she never wrote in books and handled them carefully). There are several reasons why this bible is important to me, but they are private. I also do not feel comfortable sharing a photo of it at this time, but I had to include it in the list.

The Passports

Passports are like journals, records of where life has taken you. I love that they are “official”, genuine and authentic records. I love what they symbolize: your freedom to pass through the world. When I had to renew my passport a few years ago, I almost wept because I had to send the old one back. (Thankfully, they actually return them to you, voided with a hole stabbed through the center, but otherwise intact.) 

Notice the holes!

I love that the gold-embossed lettering on my dark blue passport says “United States of America,” because I am very proud of where I came from, and always cognizant of what I represent when I visit other cultures. 

Note to Self: Wash your hair before taking your next passport selfie.

I don’t think my reasons for loving my passport requires further explanation than that.

The Journals

I have been a prolific keeper of journals since I was old enough to write. I have a navy blue diary with a broken brass lock that I started filling with short sentences scribbled in giant letters when I was four or five years old. Over the past thirty-five years, I have filled dozens and dozens of spiral notebooks, computer hard drives, and colorful bound journals with thoughts, experiences, travels, and memories. When I need to write, I will write on anything with anything, so many of my journals are disorganized and cluttered, stuffed with index cards and post-it notes. I have journals that I started in 2002 and completed last year. The only consistency is that I always put the date in the top right corner of the page (one day, I really hope I take the time to put everything in order, but it’s pretty unlikely that will ever happen). At any given time, the bottom drawer of my nightstand is filled with 8-12 journals with at least a few pages remaining to be filled.

When I was younger - especially during my teenage years - I used to write at the beginning of the journal that, if something happened to me, the journal was to be given unread to a certain person (usually one of my dear friends Christine, Anne, or Nancy) who would then decide what to do with it. Obviously, at the time, my main concern was my parents reading something embarrassing or angry or mean. (I don’t really include those warnings anymore. My parents know that I keep journals and I do not think they have any desire to read them.)

I do not know why I keep journals. I know why I write - it is how I process my thoughts, and I thoroughly enjoy writing. It would be impossible for me to stop writing. But why do I keep everything I write? It’s not like they are keeping a historical record of anything. Typically, I write more about my thoughts and ideas than events. I have no desire to publish them or even let another soul read them in my lifetime. The only conclusion I have come to is that they represent my survival. It is no secret that I have dealt with some pretty significant challenges in my life (as well as rather insignificant challenges that seemed more serious at the time). I think that I preserve this record of my life, in part, to remind myself of what I have overcome. And then there are things that I simply want to remember.

My journals are also significant because of what they exclude. I write a good deal about sadness, depression, and difficulties. For me, writing is part of the process of overcoming those things. There have been some periods of my life, however, where I did not write with any sort of regularity. These voids represent very dark times in my life; the times that I did not feel compelled to write are the times that I was not myself. I wrote very little during my marriage.

Besides my dogs (which really should not be classified as “possessions,” these journals are my most important possessions. In a fire, they would be the first things I grabbed (again, after the dogs). On a deserted island, just give me something to write with.

What Does It All Mean?

There are many other things that matter to me, from pieces of furniture and articles of clothing to unique items I’ve collected over the course of my travels or inherited from a beloved relative. There is an original, black and white, wallet-size photograph of my mother in her late teens/early twenties that I absolutely adore. There is music of course, like my six-disc Johnny Cash collection, or the set of previously unreleased Nirvana recordings that I could not stop listening to for months. There are tickets to museums, movies and music festivals, certificates, diplomas, licenses, awards, personal correspondence, and the old key to my grandmother’s house, which was my favorite place on earth. The little ring I wear every day that my brother bought for me when I was visiting him in California. And there is art. Lots and lots of art, from framed originals to prints and photographs. 

I attach more meaning to things than I realized, and I think that may be why I have hesitated to let go of a lot of the “stuff” that I have accumulated over the years. So how do I detach enough from the things to declutter my life without bringing in Marie Kondo? I think, perhaps, the first step is to stop hanging on to things that I think “might be” significant to me one day. Either an item is significant or it is not. As Kondo says, if an item is significant, find a place of honor for it in your home. Otherwise, she argues, what is the point of keeping it? I agree with her, for the most part, but there are some things that matter to us simply because they exist, and not because we want to display them, show them to our friends, or write a blog post about them. 

I think it’s okay to keep those things too. Just get rid of the rest. 

Things That Matter to Me, Part II: Four Pieces of Jewelry

I do not wear jewelry very often simply because I’m so active and it gets in the way or gets lost or broken. For my second post in the “Possessions That Matter” series, however, I will write about four pieces of jewelry that I love and why.

The Gold Bracelet

I inherited this bracelet from my paternal grandmother Avis, with whom I had a very close relationship. I had never seen her wear the bracelet. My aunt decided that I should have it. I remember when I pulled it out of the little blue velvet bag, my first impression was that it was the most beautiful thing I had ever seen. It is hard to capture its beauty in a photograph - you have to feel its weightlessness and pliability to really appreciate it. 

I do not know where it came from, although I am certain that my grandfather bought it for my grandmother as she never would have purchased something like that for herself. They had the most beautiful relationship, loving each other passionately until they left this earth. So the bracelet also carries with it the love that they shared. I have only worn it once that I can recall - at my wedding in Paris.

The Turquoise Bracelet

I received this bracelet as a gift from my boyfriend at the time. After his grandmother passed away, he and his mother selected this bracelet for me to have. I had never met his grandmother, but I loved his mother. It meant so much to me not only that they wanted me to have it, but that they wanted me to keep it even after our relationship ended. I’m really glad that they did, because it is something that I actually wear. I love its delicacy and its provenance. He remains a good friend, so when I look at it now, I am reminded of kindness and the friendship that can come even from the most chaotic of relationships (which it certainly was). And I think of his sweet mother.

The Watch

My parents surprised me with this gorgeous watch upon my graduation from law school. I knew nothing about watches, and I certainly did not know how much I would need one as a young prosecutor. They put thought into this gift, choosing to get me the stainless steel version because it was less flashy (and because I love steel). I love its “timeless” style, simplicity, and how cool and comfortable it feels against my skin. More than that, it matters because it reminds me of my parents’ endless support for my ambitions in life.

The Wedding Band

The wedding band holds a different kind of importance to me. For a long time, it reminded me of the symbolic promise that I made and had every intention of keeping. After my husband left me, it symbolized hope that we would be able to work things out. When I eventually accepted that was not going to happen, I removed it from my finger and wore it on a chain around my neck. When I was finally ready to let go of him emotionally when I was in India, I decided that I would throw it in the Seine in Paris on my way home. But when I got there, I couldn’t do it. I cannot explain why. It really wasn’t any sort of attachment to him; it was just this feeling that it wasn’t the right thing to do at that moment. So, I stopped wearing it on my neck, but I held on to it for some reason.

Several years later, when I was living on Saipan, I became very close with one of the young survivors of abuse that I worked with. After her case was closed, she and her cousin would come over to my house to paint or watch movies and play with the dogs. Over the time that I knew her, I got to see her overcome what happened to her. Like so many of the survivors I have worked with, she became an inspiration to me. 

Shortly before the time came for me to return to the mainland, the girl told me that the hardest thing for her to move past was the fact that, until he abused her, her abuser had been “a good uncle.” She had adored him, which made what he did to her so much greater of a betrayal.

Having not suffered from the kind of abuse that the girl had suffered from, there was not a lot about her experience that I could relate to personally. But I understood betrayal. A few days before I left the island, I handed her a chain necklace with a ring hanging on it. I told her that it was my wedding band, and I wanted her to have it for three reasons. One, to remind her that she is not alone in feeling betrayed by someone she loved. Two, because the shape of the ring itself reminds us that, no matter what happens in our lives, we must keep going. And three, to remind her that she mattered to me and that I would always hold her close to my heart.

The ring is one of my favorite possessions because I gave it away.

Things That Matter to Me, Part I: A Shopping Bag

 To commemorate four decades on this earth, I’m going to post some of my favorite possessions and the stories behind them. I typically don’t put a lot of stock in “stuff” because, as my late Aunt Nina used to say, “It’s just a thing.”

Also, i just moved into a new apartment and I feel overwhelmed with all the stuff I’ve accumulated. I need to purge some of it. So I thought it might be fun and useful to see and share what things really do matter to me.

I got this free shopping bag at a store in Kerala, India in 2012. I love it because of its authenticity. I have never found a good way to display it because I don’t like the idea of framing it.