Lost Treasures Found

This past week has been so life-changing for me. After being on the nearly 20-year college plan, I finally got my bachelor's degree in English Literature at Grand Canyon University. I went to Arizona (the state where I used to live and where the majority of my family lives) so I could attend my college graduation. I never expected to come back from my vacation with remnants of my past: old high school yearbooks, old diaries, my stamp collection, play programs, and lots of letters from family and friends (the oldest letter from 1989). I had thought that I lost all of those memories because years ago (during my twenties) I believed I had left them in a box at the condo I once shared with my ex-husband. Twelve years ago before moving back to my hometown (my current place of residence), I frantically searched my grandparents' attic looking for a box or two with my name on it. I could never find that box so I assumed I had left that box with my ex and maybe he threw out those memories. Well, he never threw out anything because first of all, those many memories lived in my heart (while a few may have been forgotten over the years) and second of all, those boxes had always been up in my grandparents' attic.

While on my vacation and awaiting my long-anticipated college graduation, Grandpa informed me that there were a few boxes in the attic with my name on it. I went upstairs and searched for those boxes. I gave up after having to bend down in each small space of the attic and may have gotten tired of crouching down and trying to push my way through boxes that did not have my name on them. So I gave up and told Grandpa that I did not think my boxes were even there. He insisted they were and a day or two later, I tried again. I am so thankful that I did even though I had to try harder and nearly crawl into the smallest of spaces. In a tiny corner I finally found two boxes with my name on them. Of course, I had to push other boxes out of the way first. However I am totally stoked that I found those long lost treasures. I came upon yearbooks with signatures of people I no longer remember and people I never thought had signed my yearbook. I found a play program from when I was in a children's community theater play in 1991. On the back of that program, I discovered that my friend's mother was one of the backstage moms and the assistant director. Her father did the set design. What's interesting is that I did not know my friend back then being that she was only 8 years old and I was 15 so our paths probably did not cross. I have been friends with her for about two years now. Another friend of mine had forgotten that we shared a math class in high school and she signed my junior yearbook. We kind of lost touch after that year but were reacquainted a few years ago.

One of my biggest and greatest discoveries was finding my old diaries from 1995-1998. On the drive home, I read through some of those diaries as Mom drove. Some things I remembered, but many things I had forgotten such as people, experiences, and feelings. Just a few minutes earlier, I came across an interesting entry on October 1, 1995. I had been attending beauty college for a few months. You could probably say that I might have been experiencing an identity crisis which is typical of many nineteen-year-olds:

How else will I know what I want, think, or feel? Not what everyone wants me to want, thinks how I should think, or tells me how I should feel? I have always felt that people were always trying to paint my pictures, write my words, think my thoughts, feel my feelings and none of [those] things were mine. What they wanted for me was what they wanted, not what I wanted. To a lot of people all my life, I was a good girl, I never made mistakes e.g. get a low grade, say cusswords, or spoke up about what I wanted. To a lot of people, they knew they could have their way with me or they wouldn't like me. To them I was a baby and had to do what they said. To them I was fragile. Many people never knew the real me. I could never be full of secrets. They thought they knew everything about me....

People painted pictures that they didn't look at long enough. People assumed. They didn't ask.

Wow! Very deep and profound for a nineteen-year-old. I admit that there are times I feel like this but now I paint my own pictures, write my words, think my thoughts, and feel my feelings knowing that they do not belong to anyone else but me.