Meditations On My Past

Yesterday was one of the labor days for moving out of the apartment. At the end of the day, I had filled two recyclables worth of papers from my high school, college and graduate studies. Classwork from Latin, translations of German in my sophore year at college, my calculations for precalculus, and my hard work on biochemistry all went into the recylable bin. It took nearly fifteen years for me to let go. But finally, I could accept that these things are now part of me.

Part of the difficulty of letting go, of course, is that you see yourself either as a teen-ager or a college student with the hopes and dreams and whole world as your oyster. But slowly, and surely, your plans are unraveled and your path does not take the path that you imagined. There is nothing more disappointing that letting go of your dreams and your struggles. After all, these are the things which made you.

Perusing over the bits of papers, memorabilia and other mementos, I had to conclude that I was a bit of a depressing teen-ager like everyone else. I wrote down in one of my journals my frustrations as a junior in college because I did not have a girlfriend, hated my classes, and did not have friends. All things which plague college students.

The choices that one selects end up governing one's life. I might not be a successful surgeon now, but I realize that I am also not divorced three times over with a massive ego problem. My sister and brother sometimes ask if I regretted not becoming a physician. I look at my ego then, look at my happy relationships with my siblings now, examine my relationship with the SO and give thanks to the almighty that I am not a physician.

I see the photos of people from my college at the Student Learning Center and I am forced to throw them away. I do it because I now select the memories that I want to have. I want the happy memories. Not the sad ones. I want to relive the happy part of me, not the sad ones. Sadly, those photos remind me of the odd person I was.

I have come upon many Penthouse and Playboy magazines from ten to fifteen years ago. What to do with one's adolescence? I admit I read the articles and did not look at the photos. I was always a nerd like that. Bwahhahah. It's hard to drop photos of my generation off to the recycle bin.

During my time in Indianapolis, I collected comicbooks galore. Another fantasy I had as a child. At the same time, it salved my thirst for literature though it had drawings in it. The comics were even packed in plastic. It was my first job with a real paycheck. What else could I do but spend the money?

I have now accumulated so much clothes that I pack a bedroom with clothes. Last night, it was time to say goodbye to some friends worn thin by the washing machine. By the way, if you have not tried those front door washing machines, you really ought to. We did some laundry last night and they were simply fabulous. Less detergent is needed; clothes are dried better. The SO has asked for one when we get the house.

So, I have another day to spend to pack and close out what has been my home over the last sixteen years.