21. Ghosts of Christmases Past (Or: Why I never throw away old love letters.)

In a corner in what used to be my bedroom (it's now the guest room, natch), there's a stack of several Rubbermaid tubs. Each of these tubs is filled to the brim with newspaper clippings, stray photos, publications from events I was involved with in high school or college, movie ticket stubs, plane ticket stubs and postcards, and the holy trinity of old-fashioned personal correspondence: cards, notes, and letters.

All of which hold no real economic value*, of course, but do hold tremendous personal value for me. Especially the notes and letters.

Hi. My name's David T. I'm a packrat. A nostalgia junkie. A sucker for sentimentality.

Tonight--as I end up doing every time I come home--I cracked open one of the tubs and rummaged through its contents. This particular one happened to be from 1997-1999, a pretty significant period in my life: the last few years of high school, graduation, freshman year at USC...and the first girlfriend.**

As I dug deeper into the tub, I stumbled across all the old love letters my high school sweetheart and I used to write to each other (or, rather, her letters to me--mine weren't there, for obvious reasons) during our short-lived long-distance romance; the early ones were all handwritten, some were typed, and ones from when we actually started dating in early '99 were printed out. Seems a new type of letter-writing really caught on around that time (something the kids used to call "e-mail").

I read through all the handwritten letters, including the first one in which she said she would come up to Nevada from Arizona and be my date for homecoming (I'm pretty sure that a portion of that letter was memorized verbatim for several years of my life). I breezed through the stack of printed-out e-mails; they contained so many boring details from everyday life, so I basically skimmed for the juicy parts.

I marveled at her beautiful handwriting, smirked at seeing some of her grammatical/spelling issues (considering her age at the time, they were rather minimal), and both smiled and cringed at the over-the-top language, the excessive and reckless use of words such as "forever," "dreams," "best friend," and the grandaddy of 'em all: "love."

We threw a certain three-word expression around like it was a catchphrase from an SNL sketch. Even well before we were officially dating (which, understandably, made for a confusing year of high school). Reading those letters tonight, I found it a bit silly, almost absurd, how often she wrote the well-worn phrase to me. And yet, every time I read the phrase or something akin to it--now nearly ten years after the fact, mind you--a stupid little smile would quietly register across my face.

See, somewhere along the way, I think I forgot what it feels like to be so deliriously, foolishly, head-over-heels in love.

And though this relationship didn't have a snowball's chance in Hell of working out, it's nice to be able to go back now and revisit that place and time when I was a bit more naive and a bit less cynical. When love seemed to render everything else trivial ("All you need is love," as they once sang). When things seemed so damned certain and simple. When I was much bolder in matters of the heart, without the fear of heartbreak constantly holding me back, timid and scared.

Moreover, it was an instructive read. They say your first relationship indelibly shapes future relationships, and through these letters I could clearly see the patterns that emerged: the types of girls I tend to fall for (sassy, smart, and independent), the way I approach relationships (in typical hopeless romantic / overly-obsessive fashion), and the problems I tend to deal with (the perpetual white noise of jealousy and insecurity issues, the start of which I actually managed to pinpoint back to that awkward year with the glibly excessive use of that loaded catchphrase).

It's healthy to spend some time with the past once in a while. Not to dwell on it or wish it was different, but to cherish the happy moments; to see and emulate the faith, hope, and love that we may well have since lost; and to learn from our mistakes.

That's not to say that keeping every ex-flame's letters is a good idea, per se. A few years ago, I brought home a girlfriend who had the misfortune of seeing one of these cards prominently showing out the side of one of these transparent bins, and I in my infinite stupidity and unfortunate lack of sensitivity couldn't seem to understand what the big deal was. There's certainly an argument to be made for tossing old love letters out, and it'll definitely be a consideration once marriage enters the picture.

But I do think there's something worthwhile in holding onto some to serve as reminders: reminders of who we once were, who we've since become (thankfully), and what our hearts were once capable of--and can be capable of again.



*I guess I'm going to have to live an outstanding, noteworthy life, if only so that these objects of my packrattery (or, as I like to call them, my voluminous troves of personal history) can someday be renamed "artifacts" and find a permanent home in a museum devoted to me. At least that's what I tell my dad to keep him from throwing the boxes out every year.

**Epilogue: she got married, something every last one of my exes has gone and done. But we'd remained friends and stayed in touch up until a couple years ago, and then she fell off the face of the earth. To my knowledge, she hasn't joined the known world on facebook or myspace.