So, a few days ago I found a list of books online. I think it was a list that was geared toward my generation of readers because it was all about what books to read now depending on what you liked as a kid.
Here's the link, just in case you're looking to find the equivalent of an adult Harry Potter (although I think that's impossible; nothing will ever be quite as magical as HP):
http://www.buzzfeed.com/ariannarebolini/books-to-read-based-on-your-childhood-favorites
I came across the Ramona Quimby book, and although I never actually read it, the cover on the list seemed quirky and cute. Naturally, I went to the BYU library's website to see if its adult counterpart, I was told there'd be cake by Sloane Crosley was available to check out. From reading a couple of its reviews I decided it'd be my next book to tackle.
Now, you gotta understand that this is a big deal because I haven't read anything since Malcolm Gladwell's David and Goliath came out, and I only read that because come on, it's Malcolm Gladwell and he's brilliant. If you're reading this and you don't know who Malcolm Gladwell is, then please, go to iBooks or your Kindle or something... and buy Outliers. Though I'm sure if you don't know who Malcolm Gladwell is then you've been hiding under a rock because he's even been mentioned on New Girl. It's all about that 10,000 hr. rule.
Well today, I finally checked out I was told there'd be cake, and the first chapter alone made me take immediate action. The title for this first chapter was The Pony Problem. In it, Sloane tells about how, like any other New Yorker, she's imagined what her loved ones would think if they had to clean out her apartment in case of her sudden death. (I thought this was weird, but I guess after 9/11 it makes sense.)
She says that the one thing she'd be most embarrassed by would be her toy pony collection that she keeps under her kitchen drawer. She admits she doesn't even like ponies, but whenever a sig. oth. told her he had good news, she'd ask if he'd gotten her a pony. Well, over the years, the sig. oths. reluctantly got her ponies to stop her from asking if the good things they got for her were ponies.
She realizes that she's never been able to throw out the many ponies because they all remind her of a piece or part of her life that all these past boyfriends took part in. After thinking it through, she decides to put all the ponies in a bag and leave the bag on the floor of Brooklyn-bound subway. I'm posting her last paragraph because I can't say it more perfectly than she does:
"In any case, the ponies are gone. They are on their way to a borough where eventually they will hit the end of the line and cycle back into the heart of the city. Unless the bomb squad finds them first. They are finally out of my sight and not even an 8.5 on the Nostalgia Richter Scale can summon them back. I created them and now I have uncreated them and there is nothing I can do about it. Except maybe continue to look both ways before crossing the street and avoid areas with a high saturation of random violence. I breathe a sigh of resolute relief. From now on I will make a conscious effort to remember--should I find myself face-to-face or pipe-to-skull with the end of my life--that the real proof that I have tried to love and that people have tried to love me back was never going to fit in a kitchen drawer."
Well I realized that over the years, I have kept my own version of ponies. My version of ponies is more than just one collection of objects. I hold on to things. That doesn't necessarily mean that I'm a hoarder haha. But I hold on to little things that people have given me over the years to remind myself that people have loved me.
When I realized the gist of what Sloane was saying, I immediately got my phone out. I have never deleted a text. I had texts in my phone from way back in 2010. So I started to delete. Texts from past roommates, friends and ex-boyfriends all got deleted into oblivion. My self-esteem should not rely on the past or on the people that have made up my past. The texts can't reassure me that I am loved or popular or whatever because they came to me in the past. My self-esteem should not come from past experiences.
I can build my self-esteem from the present. I know that I am a daughter of God. I know that I have a family that loves me. I know that as long as I walk in the paths of righteousness I will be guided.
Of course, those people that have texted me made up a part of my life. I will be forever grateful for them, because no matter if I am still friends with those people or not, and no matter how small of a period they were in my life for, they have all taught me something and shared something with me. It doesn't matter if the text was information on a homework assignment or a reminder to go to FHE or even the promise that they missed or loved me; all those past texts are not my present. By letting go of old things, we can make room for new hopes and experiences. Our pasts can haunt us, but we must learn to be forgiving of ourselves.
As my dad said in his last note to me,
"The future awaits you with arms wide open." (And I will hold on to this note!)
