Thursday, September 11, 2008


Today I was digging around in our closet that is the most full of junk to find the Halloween decorations. I found them, eventually, underneath another old box that was full of stuff I used to have hanging in my dorm room. I decided to check out what was in there, just because it seemed like I might rediscover something interesting.

An hour later, I have read:

1. a journal I kept while I lived on Martha's Vineyard one summer (I worked at the Black Dog)
2. one of the only love letters I've ever received
3. a little book called "Dana the Track Star" that a friend made for me in high school

Reading all three of these was an emotional experience. Each one brought me back to a point in my life and sort of resurrected the me that was living my life at that time. The journal was the most detailed, obviously, and brought back memories my brain had let go of. But the letter was the most touching, and the little book was the most heart-warming. Looking back at all of these little relics, though, makes me marvel at my past selves. I had no idea what would happen the next day, let alone 10, 8, or 7 years from the moment I wrote or received these written things. I've been struggling a lot with time lately; I feel like it's got me in a vice-grip right now, so I guess seeing these pieces of the past is particularly poignant. (Yikes, please excuse that crazy alliteration there...)

And to top it all off, once I put these things back in their box, I happened to notice the postmark on the cardboard lid (I'm sure the box was originally carrying a care package from my mom). The date on the postmark? September 11, 2001, exactly 7 years ago today, a date none of us are ever going to be able to forget.