Antiquity

I haven’t asked many college students how they feel about antique shops. But I think I can safely assume that the number of young people who find pleasure in browsing through the belongings of dead people is relatively small. For some reason, I am part of the minority that can spend hours in places that smell like my great-great-grandma’s house. I have a great love of history in general. But it becomes even more fascinating when I can tangibly experience someone’s forgotten treasures - the items that surrounded them in their daily lives. I rummage through children’s books that were published in the thirties and forties and would have been read by those living during WWII. I look through piles of yellowed piano music and wonder how many times the songs were played and whether they were endured in silence or shared in the company of loved ones. I see some dresses that would have been beautiful and all-the-rage in the fifties, and some dresses that are so hideous that it’s a wonder the person wearing them wasn’t shot. (Maybe they were.) I peruse cases of old jewelry – some sparkling with jewels and some tarnished and long-neglected – and wonder from whence they came. I see random articles from China, Germany, and France, and imagine the long distances they traveled in various conditions to arrive to their final destinations.


But the one conclusion that I always draw from my visits to these shops of antiquity is that of human morality – of how incredibly fleeting life really is. Whenever any one of us dies, those close to us may rummage through our belongings and relive memories for a short while. But eventually everything that we own will be reused, sold, or even thrown away. All that will remain are the people you have impacted, and the legacy that they leave with their lives as a result of how you touched them. That’s why antique stores are some of my favorite places to visit. I can literally get a grasp on the past and what was once dear to people – and at the same time realize that these items are only objects. The real antiques of times past are the people you talk to everyday - those whose lives have been touched by generations of long ago in ways that even they don’t know. So instead of attempting to improve your TY Beanie Baby collection or spending your time searching for rare Russian nesting dolls, I would suggest investing more time in the people in your life. It’s definitely something I need to work on. I think I would rather people remember me for my life than for the copious amounts of faded piano music I might someday leave behind.

Worth it.

I’m spending the weekend in Portland, and there is a plethora of quaint stores, boutiques, and coffee shops. But last night we visited what is definitely one of the most commemorative coffee shops I have ever spent time in. They had incredible coffee, but that was not the climax. This particular shop was connected to a hotel lobby. We ascended the stairs to a loft area with stools, a bookshelf, a mac computer (of course), and a huge chest of drawers that took up most of the wall. This huge piece of furniture with around thirty or forty drawers was filled with hundreds of notes. People have written varying things on small pieces of paper. Some are random drawings, abstract art, confessions, loves notes, and doodles. We spent close to an hour pulling open random drawers and examining their sacred contents. The subjects ranged from humorous, to perverted, to absolutely depressing. Out of the many notes that I read last night, one in particular stood out to me. Like most of the notes I looked at, it was anonymous. All it said was,
“I want to be worth it. The sad thing is, I never will.”

I never thought that a four-by-six piece of paper would affect me so much. My heart broke for this unidentified person. I would give almost anything to be able to find them and tell them that they ARE worth it. Not because of anything that they have or have not done, but because of the Grace that has been offered them.
It made me realize how fortunate I am to have not only been given this grace, but to be in a place where I can openly accept it. I have a fresh desire to bring a Love to the rest of the world that is not related to the world's definition of the word.