What’s a sweatshirt got to do with all of this? Nothing, really. But as I was fighting with myself whether to toss it, it crossed my mind that this old sweatshirt was a symbol of who I am. I too, am a little worn around the edges. The color has faded from my cheeks and hair, I’m nowhere near as sturdy as I once was, and the skin that covers my deteriorating body has thinned and gone dull from years of washing too.
I couldn’t function without my memories, nor would I ever discard the people who have warmed and shared my heart. And my dreams keep me going and make life worth living. Memories, people and dreams all have rough spots—those frayed edges that make life tough sometimes. But they also define us. Help us grow. Make the good times seem that much more delightful. And I wouldn’t dream of getting rid of any one of them.
I no longer save boxes of boxes (well, maybe a few). But my tattered old sweatshirt still hangs in my closet and now I smile each time I pull it over my head to begin a long night of writing. I'm pretty comfortable in both of these old skins.
Do you have a favorite article of clothing that you just can't part with? I'd love to hear about it.
Until next time--
Happy Reading, Happy Writing