The Attic
I have just spent the last four hours cleaning out my parents' attic. Which, as it turns out, is more my attic than theirs. It is true what they say about attics. They do hold many memories, and often things more precious than those that are on display in the house below.
My parents' attic has become an archive of my life. Everything of my past, from elementary projects that were once displayed on the refridgerator, to high school achievements, pictures of sports teams and old boyfriends, to the more recent collection of artifacts from college, pictures of friends who no longer speak to each other, reminders of the endless nights I was going to remember forever, but forgot about until today. Trips, souvenirs from studying abroad and a box full of old journals - journals beginning when I was 9 and continuing to today. These journals, some full and others only half so, hold stories of best friendships, hardships, happiness and the names of boys scrawled over page after page, with hearts wrapping their names in safety.
It is amazing that by looking through all of my old things I can map the ebb and flow of my life. Visibly able to realize how each day of my past has brought me to the place I am today. As I went through the contents of each box, I came to appreciate the bad memories, and cherish the good ones - without regret or nostalgia.
More than a trip through my past, cleaning out the attic has led to the rediscovery of old treasures, ones I thought were lost, my mother's old spoon ring, for example. But it has also helped me to rediscover goals and dreams I forgot about or that have been blurred in all that has happened in the past few years. Flipping through my old school notebooks and my old journals has brought perspective and clarity momentarily back to my life today, and reminded me of the passions and desires I once held that over time have turned into selfishness, skepticism and synicism. While cleaning, I read about a girl who wants to get her hands dirty and do the most she possibly can to assist nations with corrupt governments, failing economies, the extreme poor and orphaned and starving children. I also saw how she has slowly shifted away from service and away from these goals.
As a whole new chapter in my life begins, I am hoping to get the girl I discovered in the attic back on track with her goals. This exercise of cleaning out the attic, my attic, has been a great look at the building blocks which are the foundation of my life thus far, allowing me to see clearly - for the first time in a long while - how to continue building a solid structure out of my life, as I fill my attic with more memories.
My parents' attic has become an archive of my life. Everything of my past, from elementary projects that were once displayed on the refridgerator, to high school achievements, pictures of sports teams and old boyfriends, to the more recent collection of artifacts from college, pictures of friends who no longer speak to each other, reminders of the endless nights I was going to remember forever, but forgot about until today. Trips, souvenirs from studying abroad and a box full of old journals - journals beginning when I was 9 and continuing to today. These journals, some full and others only half so, hold stories of best friendships, hardships, happiness and the names of boys scrawled over page after page, with hearts wrapping their names in safety.
It is amazing that by looking through all of my old things I can map the ebb and flow of my life. Visibly able to realize how each day of my past has brought me to the place I am today. As I went through the contents of each box, I came to appreciate the bad memories, and cherish the good ones - without regret or nostalgia.
More than a trip through my past, cleaning out the attic has led to the rediscovery of old treasures, ones I thought were lost, my mother's old spoon ring, for example. But it has also helped me to rediscover goals and dreams I forgot about or that have been blurred in all that has happened in the past few years. Flipping through my old school notebooks and my old journals has brought perspective and clarity momentarily back to my life today, and reminded me of the passions and desires I once held that over time have turned into selfishness, skepticism and synicism. While cleaning, I read about a girl who wants to get her hands dirty and do the most she possibly can to assist nations with corrupt governments, failing economies, the extreme poor and orphaned and starving children. I also saw how she has slowly shifted away from service and away from these goals.
As a whole new chapter in my life begins, I am hoping to get the girl I discovered in the attic back on track with her goals. This exercise of cleaning out the attic, my attic, has been a great look at the building blocks which are the foundation of my life thus far, allowing me to see clearly - for the first time in a long while - how to continue building a solid structure out of my life, as I fill my attic with more memories.