As a child, I was never much of a collector. There were a few things like my Strawberry Shortcake figurines (that still smell 30 years later — talk about nostalgia) and a handful of My Little Ponies, but nothing of that much importance, and nothing like the collections my daughter has. They range from tiny plastic jewels that have most likely fallen off hair clips or fancy greeting cards, to a group of rocks or a mismatched selection of trinkets that seemingly have nothing to do with one another. (But take Zoey’s word for it: they do.) An empty box almost elicits more joy from her than one boasting presents, because to her, its emptiness just begs to be filled with a world of exciting, yet-to-be-found treasures.  

When I ask if maybe we need to get rid of some of these things, she looks at me as if I’ve lost my mind. To her, all of those things mean something. And to be honest, I get it.

Because there is one thing that I collect that is of great importance to me. Collected throughout my teen years and college and even into today, they aren’t even things–they are words. For as long as I can remember, I have been a collector of quotes.

A simple journal was always the perfect gift for me, because its pages could hold hundreds of inspirational words. I have a collection of them, all different shapes and sizes, all of them documenting, in essence, the things I have found important in my life. And if someone ever told me I had to get rid of one of these, I, like Zoey, would have looked at them like they had two heads. No way. No how. Continue reading “Week 10: Hope is Here | Everyday Nostalgia”