My partner Sam and I moved from Missouri to Colorado nearly three years ago. We procrastinated on packing, and ended up pulling two all-nighters in a row, emptying out our apartment and setting out in our cross-state U-Haul-pickup-truck caravan, let’s just say, later than we’d planned. And though I remembered packing it, distinctly remembered placing it in a larger box that held a bunch of other random stuff, one thing that never turned up in the unpacking process was the shoebox I’d had since college, which contained all of my most treasured souvenirs of my travels, beginning with the year I studied abroad in Spain — postcards and small artworks, bumper stickers, poems, and newspaper clippings, the things I bought or collected to remember places and times, when I was traveling on a very tight budget. Then there were some love letters, some scenic pictures from calendars, and possibly a scrap of fabric from a certain Taco Bell flag that was minutely vandalized during a statement against cultural imperialism.
During those three years in which the box was missing, I was of two minds. On one side, I thought I should not be attached to things, even those gathered with passion and tenderness, as presents I bought myself to celebrate moments of perfect contentment or exquisite bittersweetness. I had a surprising degree of success with this. I felt wistful but accepting when I thought that the collection was lost for good; even this outcome had a certain romance to it. But maybe I had such an easy time accepting the box’s absence because, on the other side, I never really stopped believing that it would be uncovered yet, nestled down in some yet-to-be-unpacked box. (Yes, even after three years, there are such boxes in our house.)
Well, long story short, I did in fact finally find it the other day, and was reunited, with great joy and delight, with a relatively small but personally important bunch of markers from my own history. And I thought it was interesting that I found this right after I was writing the last post, and going back and actually thinking about the insanity, and also the survival, and also the fun and the learning of those years. The hands that gathered these mementos, the eyes that selected them, are similar to and different from those with which I see and touch the world today. I am still in a process of reclamation, of gradually becoming able to face and meet all of those parts of myself that I’ve denied, been afraid of, run away from. I want to reconnect the electricity flowing to the creative and strange and engaged parts of myself that have shut down for various reasons over the years. That’s my vision and intention for spring rebirth.
Is the scrap of Taco Bell flag the one from Indiana?
I miss you.
O sooo glad that u found the box of “mementos”…. They are precious. What a great day to find something u thought once lost and they are sweet repesentation of another time and place that u existed and touched lives.
I think the box is wonderful and I am happy that you never 100% gave up on the notion of looseing such a road map of your life.
We should figure out a way to message each other (are you on Facebook?) so that I can send you some Tour de France swag from the Basque team Euskaltel-Euskadi. 🙂 Assuming I can find both of them, I have an orange floppy hat (like a fishing hat; never worn) and a bandana. 🙂 Someone who loves the Basque region as much as you seem to should have them. 🙂
Oops; also, I’m glad you found your box. 🙂
Lol thanks! 😀 and wow, how cool about the Basque stuff! Yes, I really fell in love with that region! I am in FB as Angela Gayan Galik. That’s so sweet of you!
I’m Jet. I will try to find you and send you a message/friend request, so be on the lookout. 🙂 (going now)