Some time ago I received a box to my old address that I had not opened until today. It is somewhat appalling and discouraging that this is the second box I’ve received during the course of this year.
The box before this one contained things that I gave out and had a part of me (my “me” then) in them, but this one felt a lot more meaningful, and not because of the extremely unimportant things it contained, but precisely because of the things that were not in it. The trust I left behind was not in it, nor was the faith, the innocence, the positive outlook at life and the total belief in life sorting itself out and working out perfectly fine for me.
These were the most valuable things that I left behind and therefore could never have been held in that parcel. Its opening unfolds a recollection of the things I expected to be, but no longer expect to, of the things I thought I would be and the things I took for granted and that I do not even dare to even think about anymore.
As I mentioned, this is the second box I receive this year. Both of them were belonging(s) to (from) previous lives. If we leave behind parts of us wherever we go, after so many “previous lives” is there still anything of us left? In our new lives, what do “new” people find? Is it really still us, or is it just the “toughest”, the most resilient parts, the parts that nobody wanted, the parts that are impossible to get rid of that stay with us?
Regardless… I am convinced some time I will get a nice surprise on the mail: a map that will show me the path in a way I will finally understand so life won’t feel anymore like a pair of rolling dice.