This has been an exceedingly hard post for me to write. Besides my #1 choice, there really isn’t anything I would need to save in a fire. Looking down at my #1 pick you will see that it is depressing in its own light. I would love to say that this is due to my own evolution above materialism, but that isn’t it at all. I love stuff. In fact, my two brooks brothers suits were actual contenders. I think what I cherish most is memories, but I rarely see memories through things. Memories only seem real to me when recounting them with friends, reliving them together. Enough happenstance… to the task at hand.
1/ My Computer
I warned you that it was depressing. I need to give some clarification though. It is not the actual machine, it is all of the files and data. First, my computer has all of my law school files on it. We are talking about hundreds maybe even thousands of hours of work lost. It is so bad that I had a recurring nightmare during my first law school finals week that someone tried to mug me for my computer. In the dream, I always decided to try and fight the guy off, but let’s be honest, I am not a fighter. Black eye and no notes for a law school final…at least I wasn’t in my underwear.
Picking a computer is also slightly cheating because it includes all of my photographs and music. All of Bobby’s famous annual mixed CDs are stored on that piece of metal. The jazz CDs that I listened to when first learning to play the saxophone. All the photographs from my trip through Europe before law school, the family vacation in Mexico (Is that my mom doing a tequilla shot?), etc.
Even though I never play the damn thing, it is still a reminder of who I was. It reminds me of my carefree days where I did not care about ‘changing the world,’ but simply wanted to live and have fun. Sounds great now that I think about it. Back then, my saxophone was an escape. The routine of scales and exercises served to turn off my overactive brain and to just be still. The classical music reminded me of the beauty in practicing towards perfection. The jazz enabled me to let go. If I held on to the chords or the progressions than I would get lost. If I just allowed myself to listen to the music then I could communicate emotion and thought that I could not express or understand if I tried. The samba music a symbol of love & passion for life. Clearly I need to start playing again
3/ My Bible
Got you. You were all thinking this was some pat Christianese answer. I don’t care about the actual book though it has been there for some very tough times. I can buy a new bible for $15 at the local bookstore. My bible is just where I keep the few old photographs that I don’t have on my computer. (1) a picture of me at age four kneeling in front of my grandfather’s footstool and learning how to play poker (he ended up stealing my allowance this way until I was 15). My grandfather, by the way, is the one that taught me to be an obnoxious winner by singing the same song-“bringing in the sheaves”-every time he won a large hand. (2) A picture of my sister and I making thanksgiving pie. IE me peeling apples, and my sister rolling dough. (3) A picture of my first and only attempt to surf. Luckily it is a picture of me on the beach carrying a surf board, and not the countless pictures my Mom probably has of me eating sand. I was not very good. (4) A picture of my first set of campers as a counselor at camp Sambica. I, and 12 1st grade boys, are giving free tickets to the gun show.
Perhaps I am more sentimental than I thought.