Living many little lives

My boyfriend and I moved into our new apartment in April of last year, and because that time happened to be in the middle of the spring semester, there were a lot of boxes that just never got unpacked. Also, my parents recently went on a cleaning spree, and asked that I clean out all of my old stuff from their basement - I had boxes full of stuff from high school (over 10 years ago) and from my undergrad time in Boston (5 years ago). On a recent visit to Maryland, my parents unloaded a few of these boxes, which sat with the other unpacked boxes for a while. Until the other night. I needed a break from homework and so I decided I would bring a box or two up from the basement to unpack. I figure if I unpack one or two boxes every few days, I can get through the pile in a few weeks...although I am realizing now that it won’t go that quickly if I work at the pace I did the other night...

Inside the boxes I found old photos, sketchbooks, journals, letters, planners, and other traces of what I like to think of as some of the “little lives” I have lived through the years. It was almost like an archeological dig as I found evidence of my lives from the past - many things that I didn’t remember...or had forgotten about until I had them in my hand again. I was overwhelmed with all sorts of emotions, but all of it was veiled with a kind of sad, nostalgic feeling. Why is it that many people (at least I know I do) experience melancholy emotions when we are reminded of times gone by?

Do you ever feel like you have lived many “little lives”? I have lived in so many places, and with so many different people...I have been to different schools, been in different programs, worked in the “real world” in different capacities, had different roles and responsibilities...I watched my family change, watched my younger siblings grow up. And through all of this, although I have remained essentially the same person, my identity has changed as well. I am amazed by the fluidity of identity, and am reminded of the phrase “the only constant is change”. It is amazing to go through boxes where I could see how and when I changed and why. I relived happy and sad times, and by the end my “walk down memory lane” (that is, reading old letters/journals and looking at old pictures) I was exhausted.