Value

I've been thinking about possessions recently. Not just material things, but also the memories and feelings with which we endow objects.

I hold onto memories the way a child grasps a blanket until it is soggy and filthy from having been dragged on the floor. I still wake up, gasping for air, at romantic blunders I made in my adolescence. In fact, I try to will those tortures away using every meditative and hokum purgative technique I can muster. But those nasties refuse to be vanquished. They maintain their rightful place beside triumphs, first kisses, and cds.

What is value? I value certain attributes of myself, of my personality. Surely, that is mere self-esteem. (I don't think I'm a narcissist...) I also value my relationships with my husband and daughter--those are not possessions; they require reciprocity. Were they,they would be stagnant and lifeless. So how then, can I use the same word 'value' to describe the way I feel about purchasing a hoodie for half-off or a deal I got one time when some meat was under-priced. (Still feel a tad guilty about that one, to be honest.)

Sometimes applying value to an object can be detrimental. Any Buddhist monk will tell you the same. We hold on beyond the usefulness of a memory. Valued possessions are only worthwhile as long as you continue to move forward. When you are bound, it's over. My body has taught me this with years of chronic aches and pains that I can isolate and connect back to particular incidents.

I am posting this message, incomplete. These were the thoughts I was having days before my parent died. I was unable to finish this draft and have decided to let it hang, still, in the ether.