While digging through a bunch of files to see what could be purged I found some old email. This batch, in particular, was akin to finding the dusty old letters tied with a ribbon in a cigar box in your grandmother’s attic. Naturally, you’d want to read them.
Reading old messages carries mixed emotions. They are time portals into your life. Little snapshots of what was going on and how you were feeling about it all. Reminders of feelings that have (or haven’t) changed, outlooks that have been outgrown, things you felt were important and connections that were made or lost.
They are also a venue to take a removed look at yourself. I was lucky enough to find not only the mail sent to my squishi account, but also my responses. It was particularly fun to read what *I* wrote. Sometimes a bit embarrassing, but mostly I got to see me the way I was seen by others. Interesting, because while in the throes of being “ME” I have no sense of self in that fashion. Hopefully, I’m making myself clear here. It’s akin to finding a video you don’t remember being taken of you and then watching it years later. You probably look at it and say, “I looked like that?” or “I said that?”. I’m sure there would be times you would surprise yourself with your insight or witticisms, and others when you’d have a face-palm moment. That’s exactly how I felt reading my old emails.
And then I re-tied the ribbon, placed them back into the dusty cigar box and hid them in the attic again, just waiting for the next time I find them and decide it’s time for some nostalgia.