I am not my possessions, but it can be really difficult to live without them.
The night my house burned down I rushed outside into a cool and rainy night in nothing but a pair of pajama pants and a camisole. Barefoot and bare-shouldered and terrified, it took a while before I could focus on things like comfort.
Once I did, I was lucky enough to find that I had left one of my jackets with a pair of gloves shoved into a pocket sitting in the backseat of the car. It was a few years old, black and leather. I had several like this because it was a style I liked. This one was beaten up in comparison to the other ones, which was likely why it had been abandoned in the car. I pulled it on along with the gloves and that little bit of normalcy in the midst of watching everything I owned be destroyed was a small comfort.
Between the smoke in the air and on my body, there was no saving the jacket after that. The smell of burning house is very different from wood smoke. Plastic, furniture, clothing and a couple of unlucky cats all went into that smoke. It was death smoke and every time I caught a whiff of it I nearly gagged. Once I had enough donated clothes to keep warm, I tossed the jacket into a dumpster to get rid of the smell and the reminder.
Today for the first time since I threw away that jacket I pulled on another leather jacket. Like the one I'd thrown away. Like the others that burned up in the fire. It's donated and dark brown where the others had been black. It's been broken in and has that soft, battered look to it that only old leather can have. It's perfect.
Even though I am not my possessions, I pulled that jacket on and suddenly I felt like me again.
The night my house burned down I rushed outside into a cool and rainy night in nothing but a pair of pajama pants and a camisole. Barefoot and bare-shouldered and terrified, it took a while before I could focus on things like comfort.
Once I did, I was lucky enough to find that I had left one of my jackets with a pair of gloves shoved into a pocket sitting in the backseat of the car. It was a few years old, black and leather. I had several like this because it was a style I liked. This one was beaten up in comparison to the other ones, which was likely why it had been abandoned in the car. I pulled it on along with the gloves and that little bit of normalcy in the midst of watching everything I owned be destroyed was a small comfort.
Between the smoke in the air and on my body, there was no saving the jacket after that. The smell of burning house is very different from wood smoke. Plastic, furniture, clothing and a couple of unlucky cats all went into that smoke. It was death smoke and every time I caught a whiff of it I nearly gagged. Once I had enough donated clothes to keep warm, I tossed the jacket into a dumpster to get rid of the smell and the reminder.
Today for the first time since I threw away that jacket I pulled on another leather jacket. Like the one I'd thrown away. Like the others that burned up in the fire. It's donated and dark brown where the others had been black. It's been broken in and has that soft, battered look to it that only old leather can have. It's perfect.
Even though I am not my possessions, I pulled that jacket on and suddenly I felt like me again.
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