childhood is gone, what remains?

I have begun the process of packing, and fortunately, it has not been nearly as difficult as I originally expected. I have turned my sisters bed into a kind of sorting station, throwing all potential sweaters, jackets, shirts, scarves, and pants into something that now resembles the sale section of Urban Outfitters around 7:00 PM. Tomorrow, I am hoping to go through this mess and decide what actually deserves to be placed in my suitcases, which will hopefully be just three—decisions, decisions! 

Last night, however, I started thinking about what sentimental objects from my room I wished to bring along to adorn my future Parisian abode, to make it feel a little bit more like home.

With Thievery Corporation playing softly in the background, I found myself in a sort of trance, placing items in a small Hermes box, taking items out, putting them back in. I had one very small box to fill; yet I was choosing items that I hadn’t looked at in years. When I looked back in the box this morning, I couldn’t help but wonder why I felt the urge to bring such random pieces of my past.

You would think I would want all the little gifts people had given me over the last few years, and granted I did pick a few of those, but for the most part, I didn’t. I was reaching deep in the back of my bookshelves, past my highschool diploma and framed pictures from Prom and back to where the Harry Potter Legos once were. It was my childhood that I was planning to use as comfort in Paris.

I have always been one to latch on to things from the past. My bed is still covered with stuffed animals, who to me, are some of my oldest friends. Weird I know. But Meiko, Ducky, Old Bo, and Donald have been with me for years, how could I abandon them?

I keep these treasures because they ultimately remind me of something I miss, and this reminder brings me a sense of comfort. And I am assuming that it is this same reason that after a year in New York, I some how ended up with a My Little Pony collection on my desk. It has to be more than just a love of toys and an inner playfulness, it must be something to do with how I handle stress, how I get through moments of darkness. I draw on the lightheartedness of childhood. The innonence of the past brings me peace.

It is only after writing this that I realize just why I filled the orange Hermes box with toy soldiers, a travel journal from a trip to 3rd grade trip to London, a wild animal pencil fun pack, Victorian shadow puppet cards, and somewhat ironically, a flask. I want to surround myself with items that have spirits of innocence and peace. Because, if you think about it, isn’t that really the only way for us to relish in the tangible memories of our childhoods?