We all have the things we carry along with us. We all have the bag or briefcase, sack or saddlebag that accompanies us. Held in our bags might be our wallets, our identification cards, drivers license, some pocket change, maybe a tiny tin of mints, a creamy lip gloss, a pen. Perhaps we’ll also carry along a worn, treasured love letter tucked between the folds of a wallet, or maybe, by now, frayed pictures of children or grandchildren. A small book of Psalms or a favorite read to have along, just in case some extra time unexpectedly becomes ours. The day’s newspaper rolled under our arm, a papercup of coffee in hand. An umbrella.
These might be some of our tangible carry alongs.
For each of us what we carry is so very different, and so very expressive of who we are. The inanimate objects we choose to surround ourselves with are animated by our connection to them. They become a part of what makes us who we are. Though they may seem like dispersed, separate objects d’art, by virtue of us wanting them, having them, choosing them, they each actually have an expressive meaning and so they make up the images of our lives. They are a part of who we are.
When I left Jerusalem and was dismantling my apartment and the life I had built there, I was surrounded by so much of what I had accumulated and decorated and used and shared with various family and friends in my home. I donated most of my utilitarian items to charity. But then there were those special somethings I picked up here and there; because of the memories associated with them, I just couldn’t leave them behind and part with.
I decided to give one of each of these special somethings as a way of saying goodbye to each of my friends. I felt like I was leaving a piece of myself with each of my friends and with Yerushalayim. My chocolate fondue pot, my framed Van Gogh Cafe Terrace at Night, the lovely Italian blue scrolling on a white jam jar I used as a flower vase, some lovely earthen ceramics, a Venetian glass mezuzzah, candelabras and oh so many books . . . by leaving these behind in this way, I carry them each with me.
I may not be cupping my hands to hold a particular, cherished, physical item held in the palm of my hand — instead it is the memory and the friendship of that article that is left that I now carry. When each of my friends now picks up one of these things, each picks up a piece of my life and holds a piece of me in the palm of their hand.
What about everythig else? We each carry so much more.
Grief, loss, worry, contentment, dissappointment, pride, fear, love, songs, words that were given to us — whether they were painful or tender, dreams, appreciation, trust, brokenness, growth, longing . . .
Some of these we would rather forget, or at least find a neat and tidy place for them so they could comfortably be stored and fit into our psychological “carry-on” or “overhead bin” without burdening us too much. Other things we carry simply fade over time, while others stay with us, fresh and burning as if they were just yesterday. Of course, much of what we each carry, though, recedes and retreats into the recesses of our memories, emerging only if triggered by seminal or sentimental events, be they sad or joyous.
What do you carry along with you? Where do you carry it? What are your special somethings?
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