A package arrived in the mail today. Oh how glorious. The satisfying pop as you break the tape, the little breeze you make when you pull open the flaps. And there. Something. Anything. Excitement was already at it's peak, for me at least, the joy is in the opening. The expectation. Granted, it's many levels better when it's something you've been expecting, or something amazing you didn't expect! I love the anticipation. I love the moment just as the scissors hit the box, the moment of pulling up the first layer of packaging before the goodies inside. Those collective moments make me want to drink lemonade and slow down.
What does that say about me? Do I like plans more than reality? Possibilities more than actualities? Do I like to picture joy rather than experience it? Am I reading into this too much? Yes, probably, but I didn't think about this so much until just now. It's an amazing thing, writing, how it lays things before you to examine.
The box was very exciting. Even though I packed it myself, many months ago, it was more exciting than it would have been had it arrived, as scheduled, many months ago. But, in opening it, and handling the goods I felt necessary to ship myself, I also found myself questioning my mentality and revisiting the moments surrounding the packing of the box.
Sweaters, two... brown. Two brown sweaters. Is it ironic that when I opened the box I was also wearing a brown sweater? So I own three brown sweaters. Maybe I should throw a sweater party. Brown only-- rotating every hour (i'd be the only hardcore party goer I expect!). Also, a shirt that doesn't fit (ahhh hope), a shirt that didn't make the morocco cut (welcome back), a pair of pants that got much love when I was in the classrooms (why are you here?) and a black button up shirt (for my formal hike? Huh?). Baby pictures (yay!), Grandma jam (dare I say, double yay!), my external hard drive (now there's a metaphor... shipping my external memory to myself. Hah!) and a pair of socks (sweeeeet). Simple items. So much joy. Oh and tiny fake flowers for my scrapbook. ESSENTIAL. Hah!
So, should I tell myself that this is acceptable behavior? To mail myself my own items because I want to. Need? no no no, my friends, and I am very aware, it is a want for sure. For now, I accept this behavior and allow myself to indulge in what I want (not getting to crazy, keep that new laptop and camera and house in fiji at bay, christine, but you can splurge on the goat cheese). At some point, when I open a box I pack for myself and note that I packed two similar things, and am also wearing a similar article of clothing-- maybe then I will realize I need to keep myself in check.
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