We all cling to objects around us. Mementos, jewelry, pieces of clothing, keepsakes. We hold onto them because of the feelings that we’ve placed on them. They remind us of places we’ve been, of people we’ve known, of our own identities.
The logic behind this is strange, bizarre. That we place such a measure of sentimentality onto inanimate objects, onto what is artificial, and onto what virtually has no legitimate use. I’m starting to realize something about these things, these objects, that are important to me. We attach meaning to things because we want them to mean something to us. We want something to hold onto- something physical, tangible, artificial.
It’s almost like we need it. You know, to have something that’s just there, in our hands, around our necks. We can cling to it, use it as a time portal, transfer thoughts and feelings to whatever it is that is lacking around us, to whatever it is that we need the objects to represent.
This isn’t true for everything. Sometimes, we just love jewelry or a necklace simply because it is. Simply because it was a gift but even through that, mere admiration, we use these keepsakes to represent ourselves. We use the artificial to make meaning through which there is no meaning.
We are the dictators of our lives- I don’t mean that through the choices, the life decisions you make, but rather through what you choose to think about those choices and the artificiality around us. We attach the meaning to the object, we pull the memories to it. It is not there on its own. We form our own memories, by our perceptions, and by deciding that “this is what this means to me.”
I love keepsakes. I love mementos, trinkets, small little things that I can attach some sort of broader feeling to. There is a peace in loving the artificial, in loving what virtually has no use. There is the comfort that comes from these objects, because we naturally attribute the comfort to them. And I, I think that’s okay. I think that’s just fine. I think that’s pretty beautiful.