The Middle Drawer

“What is your foundation? Where is your unyielding support?”

Last week, I made a note of these two questions posed on social media by Rose DePaolo. Her inquiry about “things you know for sure” piqued my interest and aligned with my intention of late to write into places of strength and clarity. I copied and pasted them into a Word doc, then set it aside. I was getting ready for a trip out west.

I am tempted to tell you I didn’t have time to contemplate such things, and this would not be entirely untrue. But more accurate would be to say, it wasn’t quite time to contemplate such things, and I trusted a moment would come along before long that would lend itself to circling back around.

Apparently now is that moment: Monday afternoon, the last day of October, with temps in the 60s – warm enough to sit outside without a jacket, cool enough for boots and long sleeves. A decaf latte, a bee pestering me, sun on the last of the clinging leaves, which are now the color of a perfectly baked pie crust, people watching.

Next to my lap, a notebook with a messy itemization of my middle desk drawer:

·               A Lucille Clifton postcard with the poem “i am not done yet”

·               Leftover thank you postcards from our wedding eight years ago, with two little lovebirds on the front

·               Checks I took out today so as to pay November rent

·               Passport and expired passport

·               A “faith” keychain from a client and friend

·               AirPods that went through the wash but still work

·               A small canvas painting Pearl made and gave to me when he was 10 – a blue sky, green bush or tree, red flowers or fruits

·               A tiny book Aviva made for me and Mani for Mother’s Day when she was 12 – each page has a word describing us, including brave, sparkly, fighters, intelligent, warm, patient, inspiring, kind

·               A brownish rock with a white stripe through it, of unknown origin

·               A tin of Shakespearmints

·               Reading glasses necklace Mani gave me, with tiny silver birds

·               A small blue speckled heart

The assignment from my writing group was to write a sentence about each of these objects, then select one of those sentences for a longer piece of writing. As usual, I am going about things if not backwards, then differently, creating my own path through the canyon as a river might, not really meaning to be stubborn but following the strange contours of how my brain works.

Surely these items reveal something about my unyielding support, my foundation, and things I know for sure. For one thing, the drawer is filled with gifts. I consider this and smile to myself. What an easy thing to overlook or lose track of, when really it is one of my greatest sources of support.

Birds and faith and sky and color and words – my people know me and knowing this for sure makes me feel a kind of solidity, not unlike the rock and the blue speckled heart, things I can hold in my hand and drop on my foot. Poetry and gratitude, too, make appearances here, reminding me of what not only keeps me afloat but allows me to relax and give my weight over to life, especially at times when my lizard brain might think it better to gasp, kick, flail, and splash. 

I look back at my list in relation to Rose’s questions again. Travel – the passports – and a home to return to – the rent check – show me this essential aspect of myself and my life, the balancing energies of coming and going, of roots and wings, of retreating and exploring, of introverting and extroverting, of solitude and company, of familiar and unknown, of here and there. The expired passports show me where I’ve been, while the current one holds only one entry, with the blank pages prepared for future adventures, I hope.

In other words, if you looked in the middle drawer, you’d glean a woman who values family, connection, home, spirituality, art, nature, and creativity. I find it funny that this confirmation of who I am pleases me, as if somehow it could be otherwise. After all, it is my desk!

The last sips of my latte are cold now and I note the ease with which I can breathe deeply after spending a few days in Colorado at over 10,000’ elevation. There is always something I could get snagged on, always something that could hijack my attention or throw me off my emotional axis.

As I take in this 100% oxygen saturation and give thanks for the body’s ability to adapt and self-regulate, I remember that sometimes the most unyielding support comes from rifling through the evidence of what matters and appreciating the whole beloved mess of my belongings. Junk drawers get a bad rap, but maybe, just maybe, they serve a purpose all their own.