the me that used to be
I've been going through boxes of old stuff. Throughout the four moves I've made, I've dragged stuff along with me, and I finally started digging through it to see what's worth keeping, what needs to go to Goodwill, and what gets tossed.
Stuff from my elementary school days is mixed in with college memorabilia and detritus from every age in between. Some things are easy to toss (why am I hanging on to a National Association of School Psychologists directory from 1989? What's this New Woman magazine from January 1990 doing here?). Other things are harder (I still love all my Breyer horses, but where on Earth am I supposed to keep them?). One thing at least has come back into my life: the silver ring that I wore in junior high and thought was lost is now adorning my right middle finger (it doesn't fit my ring finger - did it ever? I don't know).
So my head is stuck in the past just a bit. I reread several old letters, and angst and drama that I'd forgotten about came rushing back, not entirely welcome. My diary gives glimpses of my 13-year-old self that are simultaneously enlightening, uproariously funny, and mortifying.
And most of all, my journal entries reveal my old self as kind of a pathetic, drama-queenish doormat. Why on Earth did I put up with so much crap from the people who supposedly loved me? I know we were all teenagers together, and we were all drama queens by definition, but still, I didn't have to put up with being called names and being taken advantage of as I seem to have done throughout junior high and high school.
[All this makes me even more glad that my own daughter doesn't suffer the same afflictions. She has whole galaxies of confidence that I never had, and she doesn't take crap from anyone (although she's very nice about it). I do believe that the low-self-esteem cycle will be broken with her.]
So now I have a Life magazine from the week that I was born, several very dated necklaces, my college graduation tassels, a card from my grandfather, and a beanbag panda bear to deal with, among other things. Scrapbooking some of them (or pictures of them) is a possibility that begs the question: Is it worth the effort?
I'm not sure that I like who I used to be. Oh, I feel sorry for the old Jenny, and I wish I could climb into the time machine and whisper words of comfort and advice in her ear. But I'm not sure I want to memorialize her. The current Jenny is much happier...which I suppose I wouldn't appreciate as much if it weren't for the old Jenny.
Move on with my life or take time to appreciate the past and its lessons? I can do both, can't I?
Stuff from my elementary school days is mixed in with college memorabilia and detritus from every age in between. Some things are easy to toss (why am I hanging on to a National Association of School Psychologists directory from 1989? What's this New Woman magazine from January 1990 doing here?). Other things are harder (I still love all my Breyer horses, but where on Earth am I supposed to keep them?). One thing at least has come back into my life: the silver ring that I wore in junior high and thought was lost is now adorning my right middle finger (it doesn't fit my ring finger - did it ever? I don't know).
So my head is stuck in the past just a bit. I reread several old letters, and angst and drama that I'd forgotten about came rushing back, not entirely welcome. My diary gives glimpses of my 13-year-old self that are simultaneously enlightening, uproariously funny, and mortifying.
And most of all, my journal entries reveal my old self as kind of a pathetic, drama-queenish doormat. Why on Earth did I put up with so much crap from the people who supposedly loved me? I know we were all teenagers together, and we were all drama queens by definition, but still, I didn't have to put up with being called names and being taken advantage of as I seem to have done throughout junior high and high school.
[All this makes me even more glad that my own daughter doesn't suffer the same afflictions. She has whole galaxies of confidence that I never had, and she doesn't take crap from anyone (although she's very nice about it). I do believe that the low-self-esteem cycle will be broken with her.]
So now I have a Life magazine from the week that I was born, several very dated necklaces, my college graduation tassels, a card from my grandfather, and a beanbag panda bear to deal with, among other things. Scrapbooking some of them (or pictures of them) is a possibility that begs the question: Is it worth the effort?
I'm not sure that I like who I used to be. Oh, I feel sorry for the old Jenny, and I wish I could climb into the time machine and whisper words of comfort and advice in her ear. But I'm not sure I want to memorialize her. The current Jenny is much happier...which I suppose I wouldn't appreciate as much if it weren't for the old Jenny.
Move on with my life or take time to appreciate the past and its lessons? I can do both, can't I?