Growing Up Old Junk

I often think about the process of growing up, finding ourselves, figuring out who we are.  I find myself wondering how it all filters out into this thing called being an adult.  When I look back at my younger self, many times I wish I could shake my own shoulders and say, "Someday this will matter to you.  Pay attention."  

When I was in my early twenties, I had no concept in valuing the old.  The treasured.  The beaten up.  The weathered.  The tattered.  

My concept was needing the new.  The shiny.  The clean.  The latest.  The greatest.

I could not understand why my mom and my grandma held onto items from the past.  It floored me that they would take up space with what I thought was old junk.  Naivety at its finest.  

Now I see the value in the old.  My house is filled with items that have been passed down from generations of my family members. 

Embroidered fabric, scratched and worn wood, newspaper clippings, aprons, broaches, Bibles, teacher stamps, early primer readers...all adorn nooks and crannies in my home. 

Every single time my eye stops on one of those old pieces of junk, I can't help but think of those family members whose own eyes once looked upon them.  I can't help but know that they have all been held by the hands of people I love who are no longer with me.

So in a way they become my way of hanging on to the intangible beliefs held by my family I want to keep close to my heart.  It may seem to be an oxymoron, this concept of using a material thing to remember the important in life, but it makes sense to my inners.  The important is in the knowing that the beat up, worn to pieces Bible that sits on my shelf was what my grandparents used to keep their faith through hard times.  That Bible tells me my "hard" times are nothing compared to the hard times they conquered.  And if fingering the tattered pages of that Bible reminds me to always keep small problems small, then it will forever sit on my shelf. 

As I look back on myself as young college girl who thought she knew what was important and it sure wasn't that old junk that my mom and grandma had valued enough to save, I wish I could shake my shoulders and tell myself to sit down and listen to my grandma tell me about who embroidered the runner that now is placed on a piece of furniture in my home. 

And then I can't help but wonder, what am I doing now, as a twenty eight year old, that I will one day look back on and wish my shoulders had been shaken.  No doubt, there is something.  But if I knew, then that would defeat the purpose of this whole growing up, finding myself, figuring out who I am business that has been quite the ride.  What I will say is this.  I know that I am far less to jump to conclusions or judgments about what anyone else is doing or believing because I have shifted far, far away from that previous naive way of thinking I knew best.  

Because I know that I don't know much...just the one single clink of a penny being dropped into a coin jar.   I try to  listen now.  Paying attention to others and learning from them.  Not assuming I know best.  Because I sure don't.  Not passing judgements on decisions made.  If it would have been up to me a few years ago, none of this old junk that I now treasure more than anything new, would be here reminding me of the important.