All my love letters

I’m not at all a hoarder. Quite the opposite, actually. If anything, I’ve always had a hard time not throwing things away. It’s just how I’ve always been.

In many ways, I think it’s a pretty nice trait. I don’t cling to things easily, I find it natural to let go, and I know how to create space — both physically and emotionally.

But since becoming a parent, there are moments when I wonder why I had to be the one who struggles to save the little things my kids make for me, or the toys they no longer seem to play with. It’s definitely not always to my advantage.

The other day, one of our students gave me a letter — a few folded pieces of paper with my name written on the front. It made me so happy. I told her it’s probably my favourite kind of gift to receive: a handwritten note.

When I came home, I sat down and read her words. I shed a small tear, carefully folded the papers back together, and took out a bag from a box — a bag I’ve carried with me through every place I’ve lived over the last twelve years — and placed the letter inside.

In that moment, I realised this might be my most precious possession: a collection of words from people I’ve crossed paths with throughout my life. Old friends and new, students and teachers, Michael after our very first day together. Words from someone else’s heart to mine. Words that have meant the world to me. Words that will never end up in the garbage.

Maybe I’m not that extreme after all.