In the past few weeks, I’ve spent some time going through a lot of stuff.

And I really mean “stuff.” A lot of it junk, a lot of it just old and in need of a new home, and a little bit that I want to hold onto. Among the things I want to keep: memorabilia from my childhood and before. You see, I’m a person who sees things and associates them with certain memories. Stuff that may seem like junk to others somehow evokes emotions and thoughts for me that I don’t get in other ways.

For example, when sorting through some old boxes, I found my grandmother’s college diploma and some subsequently-published journal articles. My grandmother died almost 15 years ago and I wasn’t around when she graduated from college or even when she was working. She retired around the time I was born. And yet, these things, which I may have seen once or twice in my life took me on a little mental journey, reflecting on the women who raised me (my mom and my grandmother), the struggles they endured, and the lessons that I internalized but rarely credit them for. I thought of my grandmother, a college graduate with a chemistry degree even before women were widely accepted in the workforce. A young widow trying to come to terms with the untimely death of her husband when her daughter was under a year old. My mother, growing up in the ’60s, smart and probably more than a little wild. And I think about how all of these events, even though they aren’t a part of my experiences, still shape me, still shape the person I am and the person I can become.

And quite frankly, I’m in awe. I think about the struggles I endure compared to theirs, and I’m grateful. Grateful that I have so many choices, so many opportunities, so much strength forged from their years of experiences and struggles. And for at least a little while, I need to reflect on that, to remind myself of where I come from in order to gain some perspective on where I go from here.

Photo Credit: Koffiemetkoek on Flickr