Hello Strangers.
Last week I went to my favorite thrift shop. My sister was visiting and when we went inside, all of the old things were new. New, old items everywhere we looked, and in a way, I was a bit shocked because that meant that they’d either been sold or removed and replaced with something the owners hoped would sell. Now, that’s obviously how businesses work, but whenever I’d come back before, so much had been the same. Now things looked markedly different.
I found a green dinner plate engraved with an image of a cottage with a fire in the hearth and thought, this is exactly what I want my life to look like. I looked at the tag and it was only a dollar. It was in perfect condition and frankly, I thought that was a great deal. (Some people, for some reason, like to sell plates for eight dollars.) The plate symbolized something for me. Home, and family, but also the specific ways a person can build a life. It reminded me of food forests and fishing, and the hopes that one day I’ll have a husband and family and we’ll work towards that life together.
Then we made our way to the other side of the store.
The other side of this thrift shop has a room that’s mostly 60’s through 80’s vintage. It’s not out of step with the rest of the store at all, but it is distinct. Among the rather disturbing collection of stained plaid couches and slightly greasy feeling clothes, there was a jade green, floor length, ballroom gown. It had massive puffy sleeves, a faux velvet corset attached to gaudy fake rhinestones, and it crinkled in my hands like plastic; I’m actually not sure what the material was. It was ridiculous. It was magnificent. It was twenty dollars. I showed the entire group what I’d found. I picked it up and put it down. I found a really pretty nineties mini dress in purple crushed velvet. Also twenty dollars, and clearly the more logical choice.
And then, I left with neither.
If I don’t find the time to go back and get it, I believe I’ll regret that for a very long time, as silly as that might seem. Much like the plate represented the life I want to have one day, the dress represented a part of who I want to be as a person. It was unapologetically so ugly that it was beautiful. I wanted to take it out on my expeditions to the woods. I wanted to paint in it and bake bread in it as I have been doing more and more frequently. And yes, I wanted to dance in it. It would have been a statement to myself, that regardless of if anyone else liked it I would have fun. I would enjoy it and be joyful in my ridiculous green dress. But instead, I let it go. Because it was twenty dollars. Because I felt I didn’t have room for it. Because it was silly.
The other day, I was watching House M.D., and a patient was put on death watch. She received the wrong treatment for an illness, and it was going to kill her within 24 hours. As she and her doctor discussed their lives and the things that connected and separated them, she talks about her regrets. She said she’d made bad decisions every day, but that she’d always thought she was young.
She didn’t say, “I thought I had time.” She said, “I thought I was young.”
Opportunities come along every day. Whether it’s the choice to drink more water, spend more time in the sun, do the laundry, take the job, get sober, tell that person how we feel, volunteer, read the Bible, or find Jesus for the very first time, every day is made up of choices. We will all have regrets at the end of our lives. I hope I don’t regret not doing the things I should have done because I thought I ‘had time.’ Because I thought I was young.
To green plates and green dresses,
–Mabel
To All My Strangers 