Good Save

I recently got an idea for a writing project: asking people about the things they save. While I was poking through some of my stuff looking for an award-winning essay I penned in 8th grade, I came across so much else that I had miraculously held onto for nearly as long. This brought me to the idea about saving.

When we save things, we keep them because they are important to us personally. Some of these things may belong to a collection of sorts, but for me the key to the stuff we save is that outside of the people who know and love us and might be able to make some sense of the objects and our connections to them, few would find these things to be of real value. The more I delved into my idea, the more compelled I felt to investigate my own saving patterns. Here’s my initial list of typical saves:

1. Piles upon piles of report card comments I have written,
2. Letters from past loves, best friends and others,
3. Thank you notes from students, athletes and their families,
4. certificates, medals and a few trophies from past running successes,
5. old spikes and racing flats,
6. many of my sons’ children’s books,
7. my high school letter jacket (now moth eaten),
8. my best writing from grade school through college and grad school,
9. all journals,
10. workshop handouts I created
11. tournament t-shirts and patches
12. collections of New Yorker cartoons I shared as holiday greetings

It was interesting to note that much of my saving revolves around writing — my own or that of others. What a useful revelation! News that was literally staring me in the face in that moment made so much more sense. I could finally admit to myself that writing is a big part of what sustains me. In some ways, perhaps, writing is my saving grace.

Of course, there’s always more stuff, more relevant irrelevance to choose from. Yet, each thing and each category has a certain memory sizzle effect that can’t be denied. For instance, it moved me to rediscover that momentous 8th grade essay, “America, What It Means to Me.” In 1979 I was awarded first prize by the Ladies Auxiliary of The Polish Legion of American Veterans of Garfield Heights, Ohio. I still remember how my mother described the look on the the presenter’s face when I stood to receive the award. The dear woman was apparently not expecting a skinny black girl to be the author of such stirring patriotism.

The things we save hold our stories. The things we save remind us of who we really are and were. They help us belong to ourselves, particularly when we suspect that this may no longer be the case. Saving stuff also necessitates decision-making. We can’t keep everything. Rather, our lives become stages of growing and shedding. There are repeat cycles of letting go — yard sales, e-bay, the goodwill container. We get used to saying goodbye and good riddance to the excess we know that we’ll ultimately be happier, or at least lighter, without.

Those are the nuances that get me excited about this project. I look forward to asking people “What do you save?” and hearing the stories that are bundled up in the stuff we hold on to. I relish tapping into the mystery of what makes for a good save.

What do you save? What will you be able to tell me in 10, 20 or 30 years about the things you love to hold onto or loathe to part with? If you’d like to share your saving patterns and stories with me, I’d love to hear from you. Just add a note to this text and I’ll be in touch. Thanks!