A Life Decluttered: The Scrapbooks
When I was 19, I went to India. My family didn't understand why. I, myself, still can't give a concrete reason. But that doesn't bother me. Those are the choices - that come from somewhere deep in my gut, so grounded in must that they must be followed through with – those have defined the course of my life. India is part of that definition.
As a girl, I dreamed of lands far, far away. I wanted to see the world and go on adventures. And because I lived the charmed life of a middle class American, I got the opportunity. My ticket? University abroad programs.
Particularly, one called Semester Around the World. For five weeks, we traveled by plane, train and automobile throughout Asia and India then settled on the southern tip of India, in a city called Kochi, in the state of Kerala. Afterwards we were on our own to travel back to the States through Europe.
We were met with poverty and suffering on a daily basis. But also we experienced great wonder. I saw the sun rise over Tiananmen Square, and I saw it set over the Himalayas. I climbed the Great Wall of China and stood in the Tag Mahal. As a naïve, young woman, I struggled to make sense of it all. I couldn’t wrap my head around the dichotomy of pain and resilience. And I feared that I’d forget. I feared that this experience would fade from memory.
So I collected every ticket from every historical site we visited; I filed away our itinerary and took countless pictures (this was before digital, guys – we all developed at least 30 rolls of film each when we returned state side). I journaled and wrote to friends and family back home until my hand cramped.
When I returned, I spent my summer making a scrapbook, proof that this had all happened. I couldn’t let go of anything. Not one scrap. It validated me. As I continued to document and collage, the pages grew in numbers. One scrapbook became two. They were hefty to hold but neat and clean, organized and easy to follow.
So I became a scrapbooker. I documented the semester in London that would come a year later – especially my dozens and dozens of theater tickets (i.e. my proof). I scrapbooked my years at Notre Dame and the years that followed at the University of Virginia.
The scrapbooks followed me in all my moves. A college friend would visit and perhaps we’d pull one out to peruse. I’d move into a new apartment and I’d flip through them as I unpacked. Mostly, though, they collected dust.
When I moved from New York to Indy, the scrapbooks took up a large amount of space in that one little car that we packed full of my possessions. And, I didn’t unpack them when I arrived. I had lugged them along with me for so long that somewhere in all those moves, the prized collection had become a burden. And when that shift happened, I was ready to let go. More and more I found I have less and less to prove. I no longer needed to cling to the adventures of years gone by because I was rooted in the adventures of today. I didn’t want to fill a closet or a shelf with my old life; I wanted space for the new life I was creating with my man. One needs space to grow and change, don’t you think?
What’s more, I no longer feared forgetting. The friends I made on Semester Around the World, those ties run deep. That trip changed all our lives, not just mine. So when we get together we recount memories. We laugh and we recall. We remember through our stories, and we share. And when we see each other next: we repeat. That time in our lives is woven into who we are today, and when I see their faces, I remember.
Last winter, I invested in a scanner, and one day I set about scanning every page of every scrapbook. I walked down memory lane as I filed away the scanned copies digitally. (*And I backed up my digital copies. Always back-up.) Now, when I want to see those scrapbooks, we pull them up on our television.
I didn’t throw everything away though. As I went through the pages I realized that I’d collaged countless postcards – better images than my inexperienced eye could capture. I know I’d sent heaps of postcards throughout my journeys. I guess I must have bought double the amount – one to mail and one to keep. So these days, when someone has a birthday or someone’s on my mind, I flip through my postcard collection and find one suited to that person. I won’t need any greeting cards for quite some time. I stocked up when I was nineteen, traveling around the world.
