Most of us collect something. Mementos of some kind that either have emotional value, make us smile, grant us the respect (or envy) of others, or fulfill an undefined need – or any combination of those. I have suffered from it and over the last few years have been forced to relinquish many collections. It is something that is both painful and uplifting. An addiction to material things is never a sign of a soul at peace.
My point? Read on.
Imagine that every year, you get a trophy on your birthday. They should be up there – on that dusty shelf in the corner of your mind.
Of course, like any collection, there are criteria. In this case, let’s keep it simple: you can only put a trophy on the shelf if you can remember something specific about the birthday it is for.
So, I’ll go first… Oh.
- Twenty-first – A rather out-of-hand party to celebrate it.
- Thirty-ninth – A friend bought me an insane present during a night out.
- Forty-eighth – A home-made lemon drizzle cake arrived without warning.
- Fiftieth – I got my first tattoos.
- Fifty-first – I received a card from someone who I never expected to hear from.
- Fifty-second – My brother got me an unexpected present.
Trophies without number:
- A party at my house that ended with me and my mum serving coffee at 7AM to thirty wrecked rockers. Bloody marvellous – and scandalised mum’s church community as a bonus. 😀
- My first party at a place called The Hungry Years. A heavy metal rock ‘n’ roll extravaganza.
- My second party (and last) at The Hungry Years (stupidly trying to recreate the atmosphere of the first). A bit of a faux pas.
Nine trophies. Forty-three spaces.
How did you do?
If you’re going to collect things, don’t forget the things of real value that we miss so easily: memories.