Ode to the things we cast aside…

The past is my mold; the harbinger of the molten cast that I am become in middle age, where my identity has begun to reveal itself. Last week while visiting with family, my mom took me on a short trek through the back yard and into the shop, where mounds of our families forgotten memorabilia and junk have resided for the last two decades. When we reached the back of the shop, she dug out a box that she claimed was full of my things from years ago. I took the box and wound my way through the maze of life's minutiae back outside and up the steep rickety stairway to the house.

When inside, I sat in the center of the living room on a folding chair, surrounded by my older sisters early morning efforts to clear clutter. I opened the box (roughly 16''x 24''x 6") and began to sift. The first item I found wasn't mine at all; it was my older sisters first report card, from kindergarten, which upon inspection became an instant conversation starter. Then, that sweet sense of child-like curiosity and excitement hit me, so I mined on.

I found photographs of my mother and her siblings taken at the family property in 1982, when she was 16. There were photo's of my father playing with my sister in 1987 before I was born, he was 21. I also found polaroid's of my sister and I with a replica of E.T. on Elliot's bike donning his white towel in 1991, we were 3 and 4. Among many other things, like photo's of my great-grandparents and my grandparents when they were my age, I found the photo's my aunt took on our hiking trip up Strawberry mountain in central Oregon in 1998. My sister and I went there to her home in Prairie City, to stay with her and the boys that summer after our parents decided to divorce. They were bittersweet times, where my love for the painful beauties of life and melancholy were conceived.

Scattered amid and among the photographs, there were old report cards, school art projects, old assignments, and class journals. I found one such journal from 1995; I would have been 6 years old and in the 1st grade. This small book crafted by my little hands, contains my first-ever attempts at writing. I recalled instantly, upon opening it and seeing the random conglomerations of consonants and backward letters, that I struggled a great deal with reading and writing as a child; it took me longer than most other children to learn these things. I recall now, that I spent a great deal of my developing years under the microscope; I struggled with reading and writing, but I excelled in arithmetic and I was obsessed with astronomy and the solar system. I was very shy and quiet, and I had an explosive temper. In hindsight, one can see why the school thought I was on the spectrum and sent me to these "special" classes throughout grade-school, as we referred to them in the 90's.

So, what is it about the contents of this box that inspire me to write a story? In seeing all of these things I have come to a few realizations about life:

1. What is lost, is never gone. When I saw the photo's and the journals, and everything in between that related to my life, I remembered where I was, what I was doing, and how I felt. The contents of this unintended time capsule unlocked parts of my mind that have gone untouched for decades, and reformed pathways in my mind that lead to parts of my life that are integral to my identity as a man.
2. The past can teach. Seeing these things brought back memories, past thoughts, past emotions etc. They each item, provided a context to my life that I had all but forgotten. I saw the roots of my feelings. Anger, sadness and joy are powerful emotions in the cognitive repertoire; but, imagine recalling and reliving the very first time you ever felt them with extreme vivid clarity. I learned things about myself that have never occurred to me, despite being the sole expert of my own existence.
3. There is more, than meets the eye. These photo's and documents [on the outside] show happy, fun-loving, intelligent people in their youth; but, what these items don't show is the world behind our eyes, or the thoughts on the other side of the pen. When you look at me and do your ten second survey when you're deciding whether I'm your ally, a friend, or a potential lover, a loser, a dork, a jock, a hick, a stoner etcetera, you do not know me and nor I you.

The answer's I've been searching for throughout my life are right in front of me in grainy technicolor. I've spent my life up until opening this unintended time capsule, over complicating the obvious; I have always been a sensitive, caring, creative and intelligent young man, that has the ability to achieve any goal I set my mind to. I was more myself and whole as a child than I have ever been as an adult; but, my internal fire lights my way, and is now leading me hastily back to me, in new and improved form. My past so far, has told me that my future is bright and that happiness is not elusive, it just needs to be acknowledged. I stand poised on the brink of reaching the goodness in life that I have always dreamed of. This time I won't miss it when it's in front of me, for today is a new day, and that box is still half full…