I hoard things. It is a newfound discovery of mine. Apparently, it isn't material things I hoard-- it is an idea, a song, a word, maybe a memory. All locked up. All secrets. Not secrets like little girls share at sleepovers after their mothers have told them a hundred times stop-talking-and-sleep-because-you-have-things-to-do-tomorrow. Not who likes who, or who is doing something illicit and heinous-- things like that are sometimes better to share. But these things, if I told you one, it would very likely seem commonplace and incredibly mundane-- you would think I was being ridiculous, and it is entirely possible that I am being just that. But if I told you one of these thoughts, it wouldn't be special anymore-- the odd, mysterious appeal that the thing held for me would vanish because you might not attach the same importance to tit that I do. Risk. Know what I mean? Maybe. Maybe not.
The best way to describe it would probably be a collection. Occasionally, I take my little pile of thoughts and go to the front room in the house where hardly anyone goes and I sit cross legged on the enormous couch, clutching a pillow and I turn over the thoughts with my mind like someone turning over a collection of small, precious things with their hand. They enjoy the shape, and the curvature of the things, maybe the color-- it is nice and pleasing because they know the things and they are familiar. Everything in my collection is as familiar to me as any tangible thing and it makes me happy to sort through it. So I smile.
Kind of reminds me of this:
"So they hurried off and found Mary and Joseph, and the baby who was lying in the manger. When they had seen him, they spread the word concerning what had been told them about this child, and all who heard it were amazed at what the shepherds said to them. But Mary treasured up all these things and pondered them in her heart."
-Luke 2:16-19
Mary storing up proof that her child was actually the Son of God. I don't know-- I just enjoy reading that. Not like I have a secret like Mary though. Being able to say, "Hey, I'm pregnant with the Son of God." pretty much trumps anything I have.
Anyhow, I have no idea why I do this-- maybe I just keep secrets for the sake of having them? I guess I will continue to add to my collection.
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I learned today that "hoarding" is a medical diagnosis. Strange.
I love the way you describe things. I can relate to exactly what you mean about treasuring that unique collection and smiling, and you described the feeling beautifully.
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