Digging Through My Past

Yesterday, I posted an artifact from my archives, which basically means that I found it in a box of my junk still being stored at my parents' house. I doubt that I'm alone in utilizing my former residence as current storage (at least all of my junk is relegated to my old bedroom, unlike someone else I know), but as a approach 30, it's starting to feel pathetic. Also, my parents came up with a plan to drive my junk out to me if I purchase a home before my wedding in July. The fear of filling my potential home, which will be much smaller than my parents' place I can assure you, with my excess garbage (which doesn't even count my fiancee's stuff at her parents' place) was enough to compel me to dig out the non-essentials (surprisingly little. I'm a sentimental man. What can I say?).

I did a modest version of this years ago that apparently got rid of all of my high school memorabilia (oh! the lost love notes!) and some undergrad stuff, but this more thorough pass was kind of enlightening. Firstly, having a child on the way helps to justify keeping all of those toys and stuffed animals that have been sitting around in a closet for 15+ years. I liked them when I was a kid! Plus, nothing quite matches the awkwardness of digging out old, framed pictures of myself with ex-girlfriends while my pregnant fiancee is lying on the bed behind me (that goes doubly for the mug that features a picture of myself and my undergrad girlfriend at Madrigal together). Fortunately, finds that stuff amusing (as well she better since I hang out with some of her exes now and then! Don't worry Ian... you're top-notch!).

A lot of time was spent reading old comments on college papers and, if the paper wasn't too long, re-reading that. Dear lord, I was a bad writer as a freshman (I know, I know... WAS?). I was tasked with writing "journal" entries for an Extended Orientation class on supplied topics and every one reads like Ralphie's Red Rider BB Gun report in A Christmas Story.


I'm scrapping most of those old papers (unless my mom decides to see what kind of student I really was in college), but hopefully there will be some more golden nuggets from my past when I finally have to unpack those boxes. Of course, a friend of mine has the Holy Grail of personal memorabilia: an apology note for knocking her down written on awesome dinosaur paper.

As I already mentioned, I'm very sentimental. I have a difficult time getting rid of inanimate objects (and animate objects, for that matter). It's even more of a struggle if the person who gave me said object is important to me. That's partially why I hate getting cards. They're just pieces of folded paper, but some people take a fair amount of time picking out an appropriate card and they kind of stand as a representation that someone was thinking about you in their spare time even if cards are generally saved for special occasions. I tend to have to blindly grab a pile and throw them out (generally after a few years of piling up and going through each of them first because you never know when you'll find money stashed in one!). This last experience doing this was relatively painless until I found two that made me balk at tossing them. They were cards of condolence from when my dog, Farley (the best dog ever), died. To top it off, one was from an ex-girlfriend. So many emotions. Ultimately, I tossed them with only a slight tinge of remorse, but mostly because it reminded me of how much I miss my puppy (hell, all of my dogs that have died).

Going through my boxed up history was an exciting, surprising, amusing, and emotional experience. It's kind of a shame that we get rid of so much of our history in the process of condensing our lives and joining lives with another. As someone who spends a lot of time thinking about posterity (I keep a journal and wonder what future generations will think about it), I feel like each item I throw out throws a shadow on who I am in regards to the future. As someone who tries to be practical, I know it's necessary. I just hope I don't get rid of too much that rediscovering my past is no longer exciting (I hope I don't sound too narcissistic, I'd go through all of your stuff to learn about you in a heartbeat. What do you say? Tomorrow at 3?).