At the time it was given to me, I had no idea it would become a piece of me I couldn’t bear to part with.
Shredded cuffs are beyond repair and no longer fit around my wrists properly, and moths have surely been nibbling the neck. Key elements of letters across the front are missing and once a deep heather gray, ghosts are less transparent than it is. Once a sturdy sweatshirt that kept me warm into the wee
Shredded cuffs are beyond repair and no longer fit around my wrists properly, and moths have surely been nibbling the neck. Key elements of letters across the front are missing and once a deep heather gray, ghosts are less transparent than it is. Once a sturdy sweatshirt that kept me warm into the wee
hours writing, it is now a fading remnant of what once was.
I’m a pack rat by nature-just ask my husband who rolled his eyes when I moved huge boxes of empty boxes from one city to the next. When contemplating if I should get rid of some long forgotten item, my sensible, efficient side wages war against the sentimental little dweeb in me. I hate letting go. Surely I can use this at some later date…so naturally, I have boxes of “stuff” I will probably never use.
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
~Susie
I’m a pack rat by nature-just ask my husband who rolled his eyes when I moved huge boxes of empty boxes from one city to the next. When contemplating if I should get rid of some long forgotten item, my sensible, efficient side wages war against the sentimental little dweeb in me. I hate letting go. Surely I can use this at some later date…so naturally, I have boxes of “stuff” I will probably never use.
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
~Susie
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