I will never forget the first time I knew loss, my junior year of high school. Not loss in the physical sense, but a loss of love, a loss of direction, and more devastatingly, a loss of self. In the fallout, I found myself taking refuge in the one place I knew best; the Sacramento antique fair. I found peace in the familiar aisles I must’ve walked a hundred times over, dreaming up stories of those before me, wondering about the lives that once blessed these objects, left to sit under the unforgiving valley sun just as I had been.
My May wanderings led me to a booth filled with vintage records. Despite the fact that I did not own a record player at the time, I found myself sifting through the bins until my interest was sparked by a familiar blue record sleeve. I marveled at the apple graphics adorning the center label, decorating the nostalgic tracks of my youth. Our shared affinity for the Beatles sparked a lengthy conversation between myself and the proprietor, who I learned had recently inherited this extensive collection of records. He offered the blue edition to me for less than a fraction of its’ value, and then wouldn’t let me leave without the accompanying red one.
Sometimes I wonder if in these moments of need, my aura reflected the blue of my soul. It was a series of acts of human kindness, such as this, that altered the trajectory of my (luckily fleeting) cynical disposition. I took it as a sign, and bought a record player that kept me company during my ruminations that summer, and every summer since. When I’m not home, my favorite song has reminded me that love is just that; “Here, There, and Everywhere”.
Healing a broken heart is not linear, nor is there one path to grace. My lack of direction has led me to spend my early adulthood travelling, which has only affirmed what I always suspected was true. I’ve been clubbing in Ibiza, seen Paris from the top of the Eiffel tower, and sailed the Amalfi Coast; None of these experiences will ever compare to the time my friends and I were welcomed into the home of a local Italian Nonna who cooked a traditional Apulian meal for us, or the night I spent drinking Clara on the beach with a Spanish local. I once defined the value of my life by the sum of my wins and losses, the epic highs and lows that thrust me into constant emotional turmoil. My experiences since have led me to a much deeper well, one filled with human connection and good will that can be seen by anyone who opens their eyes, but only accessed by those with open hearts and minds.
The greatest souvenir I brought home with me was a reinstated creative drive. Since my return, I have found myself aching needlessly for an outlet to catalog my experiences. Putting pen to paper has always been the hardest part for me, but I am happy to say I’ve finally created the stage my heart always craved. Thank you for coming along this journey with me, I hope you enjoy the show.
