An odd thing happened the other day. I got a message from Carlos that asked if I wanted the pictures that he had of me and the girls from almost 2 years ago. Of course I want those pictures.
So I arranged for him to bring me a disc. To my surprise he brought a box as well. I recognized the box. It was the box that he had placed all of the things that I had made or written for him. Anything I had ever given him. It was in that box. I felt a little confused as to why he gave it to me. He said that he couldn’t hang on to it anymore. 2 years was long enough. I understand the need to get rid of the items. And just now I even understand the need to dispose of it that way. It is sort of like good bye. Sometimes we have to be more than verbal with it. Not just for ourselves but for the other person.
When things were over for me and Dick, we really hadn’t exchanged anything. Words, texts. Really nothing all that tangible. What I did have was perfume that I had meant to wear for him, his old sweater from 15 years ago, a box of notes and things that I had written for him from 2000 miles away. When I could no longer look at these things I threw them in a box and mailed them back. Now for me, sending the box was on purpose. Because I knew that Dick still had feelings for me. I know he still does now (but that is another post). I wanted to hurt him. Most of the items in that box were just items. But the sweater was the real kicker. He called me over that. Said it hurt that I sent it back. I also found out later that he threw it away because now he couldn’t look at it either. Our strange long distance relationship was really odd, and the curves in it were all purely for learning on both our parts. Time for each of us to wake up and come alive.
I don’t know why Carlos chose to get rid of the things that I had made and created. I wasn’t hurt by it. I slowly went through the box, examining its contents and looking for any of my poetry that I might want to keep. I found myself strangely disconnected from my own work. My own words. As if someone with my handwriting had penned them and I was reading their private letters. I felt like I was barging in on a private conversation. I had said before that when I write I can feel as though I am reading it for the first time. It felt that way this time. Looking over it all felt intrusive. I found myself looking at less and less of it and just skimming it, trying not to pry. When it was all looked through, I chose two pieces of my work, things I edited to be more vague than directed at one person. And I kept pieces off of a framed art board I made. I like the little antique key looking thing that was on it.
I may never know truly why he gave me the box. Perhaps he was not strong enough to toss the memories himself. He needed a little help. Perhaps he wanted to me see a visual of his letting go of the past. Perhaps he doesn’t know why he gave it to me. (I choose to believe that he didn’t give it to me for dramatic reasons or to be hurtful. He knows how far from that past I am and he would know that I wouldn’t have an emotional connection to any of those things)
I know this much. I am proud that he has moved forward. I am happy that if giving that box to me, he has let go of the old to make room for the future, than I am glad to have helped. In my heart he will always be my friend. I worried about him hanging on to the past. I want so much to see someone who has spent so much of their lives being denied happiness to find some of his own.
For me. Stuff is just stuff. It is all replaceable. The people that you place in your lives are the ones that matter. The moments that you create. The time you spend. What is this post for? It is to revisit once more how you control your happiness. If you find that inanimate objects cause you pain, hold you back, bring drama into your life, cast them away. It is just stuff. You can get more stuff. You can’t get back the time you spend dwelling on the might have beens, the what ifs, and the I wish I could go backs. Take time to move forward. Take a chance! Chances are what makes this world worth living in. Without chance, we are stagnant and old. We may as well die now without living!
Remember something for me. Please.
If people drag you down, if circumstance makes your life hard. Trust me, I know all of these things. The only person you can control is you. So take a chance. Be brave.
All my love,