The Box

Tonight, I took it out for the first time since the spring.

I'm pretty sure I've had it since the first time I moved away from St. Louis.

I want to say that's when my grandmother gave it to me. The "Erin" written in marker on the faded fabric looks to be from around that time - when I was seven years old - moving with my family from St. Louis to Carmel, a suburb outside of Indianapolis.  

The first things stored in there were no doubt treasures at the time - and I still have some of them, random as they are - a brass pill box and small porcelain pig purchased for a quarter apiece from a garage sale (these survived, the feather "fountain" pen did not); a ribbon for swimming the most laps for a cancer benefit; one of the rosaries and the picture book of saints I was given for my First Communion.

As the years went on, the items accumulated - some very obviously special, some...not. One of the double reeds from my oboe and an indoor soccer club ID; but also, a picture taken of three baby squirrels that fell from one of the oak trees in front of our house in Maryland. Playbills from the productions I've been to that offer Playbills; ticket stubs from movies, concerts, train and plane rides, and events. Coins and bills from foreign countries. 

Some of them have significance anyone would recognize: my temporary SCUBA license (a goal eight years in the making!) and my Driver's Permit. A picture of me with my orthodontist after my braces came off. A lock of my hair when I let a friend cut it for the first time in many years. The last of my DePaul University U-Passes.

But others, only I understand. The noodle angel ornament I made right before moving back to St. Louis from Maryland when I was 11. The random receipt from a camping ground the summer of 2003. A skein of embroidery thread. A gum box with a pressed flower inside. 

Some of them are things I keep, despite changes that have occurred. A charm from my first boyfriend when I was 17; the decoration that used to adorn the door to the apartment I lived in with my best friends (A Dante quote: "Abandon all hope, ye who enter here"); a picture of the first house I owned.

Sometimes a few months lapse between my perusals. Sometimes a year. 

But I keep this box and I add to this box. To remind myself of where I came from. To know that I've moved around and traveled. To never forget that I was once a socially awkward preteen that wished people would be nice to me. To be reminded that I've held very different beliefs at different points in my life and to be kind to all those I interact with. To remember that I've had the good fortune to see so many things and have, already, a lifetime of memories. To be encouraged to continue to do things, see things, go places, to add to the box. 

So that maybe, in several decades, I'll be able to pull a little girl onto my lap and tell her, "Did you know that Grandma's name is "Erin" and this is her box? Shall we see what's inside?" 

This isn't about trying to live in the past, but rather, to recognize that the past happened. That I've been living my life since the moment I drew breath and there's something beautiful and amazing about embracing the moments that pass and keeping tokens that might come with them. 

And seeing that they have each contributed to the woman that looks back at me in the mirror.