Did you ever watch Quantum Leap with your parents? Maybe because it was the one thing that they liked that -- you hated to admit -- you really liked, too. Scott Bakula was just so ordinary and relatable. If that guy could travel through space and time, well then so could I. Right? C'monnnn, you watched it.
Quantum Leap's intro included this echoing statement:
"And so Dr. Beckett finds himself leaping from life to life, striving to put right what once went wrong and hoping each time that his next leap will be the leap home."
And that is what is front of mind for me as I sit in my bed, glancing at the wall to my right which now sits empty, the bookshelf removed, the photos and Jerry Garcia bobble head packed safely away. All that is left are a few things that won't go into storage: an acrobatic english setter figurine, my weekly money jar, the love box, and a re-used jelly jar filled with dried acrylic bullet holes. These are all real things. For the last 3 years, almost to the day, I've been looking instead at a bookshelf. I stared at titles like Spanish Now! and Learn to Knit! and every single book by Christopher Moore. But now the shelf is tucked back in the corner of Cransky's shed, in hibernation, curled up with bins of vintage dresses, shiny spandex and other super fun things.
Today I pored through clothes and photos and books and forgotten art and bits of tangible nostalgia from all different parts of my life. As I touched them and pondered them and, naturally, instagrammed them, they started to make more sense to me. I saw them less as representations of my life chapters and more like reference points on a global map of me. Always there, not linear, not was me, is me, or will be me. Just ... the lay of my land.