I attach a lot of meaning to things.
As I write this, I’m listening to “In the Summertime” by the Rural Alberta Advantage. The song takes me back to the late night road trip during which I first heard it. Driving through rural Ontario under an orange sky, our tiny car was tossed around by high winds and pelted by rain. It was scary, exhilarating, and brought us closer together; I am reminded of that night every time I play the song.
I spent last Sunday with one of my best friends. We hung out, got ramen, and wandered around in the sun, stopping to browse a couple small shops. It was the perfect day. At a cute Japanese boutique, my friend suggested we commemorate the day with matching chopsticks. Indigo coloured and adorned with illustrations of Mount Fuji, the chopsticks live in a kitchen drawer. Every time I see them, I’m reminded of that day. We met last year while working at a summer camp, and would often hang out in our time off, watching movies, listening to music or talking by the water late at night. Whenever I play Cavetown, an artist we listened to a lot, I’m reminded of her and the early days of our friendship.
This meaning is derivative, of course, of the meaning I attach to the people associated with those things. Friendship is an incredible thing; there’s nothing like putting on headphones and being transported to a meaningful time of your life, or looking at chopsticks and being reminded of a day, and a friend, that means a lot to you.