I’m a collector.
A sentence that context could not possibly matter more right? A sentence that if spoken in a particularly aloof and high brow tone, carries the massive weight of built in mahogany bookcases, ascots, and Earl Grey tea. I am not that kind of collector. I am the ADHD dopamine hunting, novelty seeking, and security minded type. The “Hey that’s cool!, let me get more of these things!” type. The “I’m going to pick this up so I can attach a memory anchor to it.” type. The “I want this because it answers some deep seated need for material security and self validation” type.
Collecting has always felt good, and while sitting here writing this piece I am throwing my gaze backwards through time and exploring the *why* of them. Some are easy. Growing up I was plagued with eczema. The rashes would show up on my eyelids and elbow joints mostly, and at that time the most common remedy medicine could offer was hydrocortisone cream, which if you ever used it, 1. Doesn’t smell very good, 2. Doesn’t actually moisturize, and 3. Prolonged use actually thins the skin out. I found far more relief sampling my mom’s more emollient lotions, and as I got older, investing in certain higher quality soaps... which is where my soap collecting habits began. The milk soaps (sheep, goat), triple milled french soaps, the olive oil soaps, etc. paid dividends for me. Richer lather, intense moisturizers and what not, helped ease my eczema, with the added bonus of the lather was more than thick enough that I could use the same bar to shave my head. The dozens of bars I stacked in my closet might as well have been bars of lilac and cardamom scented gold. With the added bonus of they would almost certainly be useful bartering goods in the aftermath of the zombie apocalypse.
I collected ties for a time, back when I wore them for work. While color was important, I focused more on the overall... energy of the tie. Something that I do with almost anything of permanence that I place in my home. I had to consider not only the head space and image I was projecting, but also what I wanted whoever I interacted with to perceive. Understand that in many ways, the tie, is the core of the visual handshake when you meet someone wearing a suit. It reflects their personality, a micro sliver of themselves that they push out into the world. Now? I have about forty, and yes, color coordinated, chilling in my closet. These days, I may wear one only a handful of times during the year but know that when I am, it was chosen with intention.
When I have guests over, my stuffed object (I want to say animal, but they aren’t all animals) collection often elicits bemused expressions, questioning looks that quickly melt into slow smiles, and gentle laughter when they see a memory marker that they share. Doubtful? Tell me you wouldn’t crack a grin seeing a stuffed Mario Kart banana, Falcor (Yes, THAT Falcor... as if there could be another!), Or a smiling bag of jelly beans, with MORE stuffed jelly beans inside! That also happened to be smiling! I have several dozen of them, and each of them tied to a specific memory. Some good, some...not. But they all serve the purpose of when I look at them, they pull me back for even the briefest of moments to a different time. Because even during the darkest times, there was still a reason to be grateful for something. And those times are often what taught me the hardest, but most necessary lessons that I carry to this day.
The wall art I have? I recently wrote about the piece I found at Home Depot, the haunting greyscale forest scene I hung for years. Since then I have expanded my collection to probably fifty plus pieces, even having given some away over time to people who I felt needed whatever particular...thing... that piece gave. I just love wall art though, seeing the spirit of the piece, the *Gravity* of the image, and how each influences the overall ambiance of the room around it. Some pieces seeming to anchor the room in seriousness or reflection. Others lifting the energy of the space, making it reflective or somehow soothing. Whether canvas and wood, metal, or glass, or some hybrid, if it feels right and resonates? It’s getting added to the collection, even if its for a house in the unknown future that is currently waiting for me to come home.
The rest?
The shelves of knickknack that serve as post cards from friends lost to time. Adventures that ended in unexpectedly discovered treasure. And honestly, some pretty cool conversation starters at minimum.
The many silly hats that in the mirrors reflection, I no longer see the 44 year old man with the goofy grin. But the eleven year old secreted away deep inside, laughing to tears in the most purest of joy that only truly happy children remember how to feel.
Gnomes, scented candles, and the other odds and ends have their places as well. Each, a thing with a story, a memory, or a crazy good sale that may have out sized value one day. Either to those that outlast us, or those still around rebuilding after the aforementioned zombie apocalypse.
Throughout all my collections, I suppose the items are just a proxied veneer over the real root cause of what I’m doing. Sure, the dopamine is awesome, the “Ooh Shiny!” reflex is real, and the other justifications aren’t really warranted. But when zooming out what I’ve really been doing is expanding the definition of myself. A dozen compiled reminders of what the most authentic version of myself actually is, and what makes me happy. That when someone comes into my space, they are received by a host that doesn’t hint as to who they are, but shows it.
-KC