8.26.2002

 

The world is a mysterious place, and even though it’s cliché, the best things happen when you least expect them.

I hate moving. I consider it one of the most bothersome things we do as humans. Pack up stuff that on the whole is really a lot of crap, cart it to some new location, and stash it into new places where most of it will sit uselessly until the next move. This most recent experience has made me want to live as spartan an existence as possible. This is not to say that I’ll be getting rid of my DVDs or anything. I’m just going to try and refrain from acquiring any unnecessary crap.

But anyway, this particular move has been rather tough on me. I was very up and down, and was fearful of going to bed with my nerves keeping me up all night again, even though I had talked to a number of great friends who assured me it would be okay. And then as I was unpacking some of my things I found an old envelope and wondered what was inside.

This story is as true as you want it to be.

I spent three months living in Spain a number of years ago. It was one of the best periods of my life. And I saved most everything from that trip (I’ve sinced tossed a lot of it in my quest to be spartan). This envelope contained letters I had received while abroad from friends and family.

I know my sister loves me, but she wrote me a lot. I never realized quite how amazingly good she was to me then. Lots of laughs in those letters.

I sort of dated a Spanish girl while I was out there. If I were at all intelligent, there would be no “sort of” to that last sentence. She’s one of the finest people I have ever known, and I unabashedly adore her. We hardly ever talk anymore, but I think about her all the time. I’m very eager to see her again. I hope I will next year. We used to exchange letters every couple of days while I was out there, and I saved all of them. I remember every one of those moments she explored.

The big surprise was two letters I received from my grandfather. He died a couple of years ago after battling a number of illnesses for a long time. His writing is a little hard to decipher, but the essence is there. I think these letters are the last two pieces of correspondence I have from him before he really lost the capability to write. And I don’t remember many conversations between the time I returned from Spain and he passed. But here he remains in these letters.

I hate moving, but maybe it’s been worth it. I cannot think of a much better thing happening in those days last week of uncertainty than having found these again. I thought about tossing them because I really am trying to cut down the clutter. But I’m not ready yet for that.