Volume 05 — Objects

Objects surround us.

In this consumerist, capitalist world we live in, one could say they rule us.

But that's viewing it from a cynical lens.

I prefer to lean on the side where objects serve us and our rituals, big or small.

For me, one of the objects which comes to mind first is a pair of old tweezers my mom gave me. They were hers when she was around, and they're not just any tweezers. They're a special pair shaped more like a pair of bent scissors, with two loops you put your fingers through that end, and a tweezer tip. I'd never seen another pair like them in the wild. I have no idea where she got them. I like to think she came across them in one of the countries she traveled wile part of the USSR national team. Maybe in Japan.

But they're my favorite pair.

They're incredibly precise. You can't oversqueeze and cause the tips to open back up, even microscopically, like some traditional tweezers.

They're the ULTIMATE in my eyes.

It's no secret that these tweezers are an incredibly ordinary object, but they support me weekly. With them, it's about function, and boy are they incredibly functional. And to anyone else, they're completely unremarkable. Most people, if they saw them, would probably fail to even recognize them as tweezers.

What's interesting is that I don't necessarily believe objects arrive in our lives with meaning attached to them.

Oftentimes, they have to earn it.

Through repetition, through good design, or through consistently showing up over and over again until one day, you realize you can't imagine your routine without them.

Some objects we encounter in life become far more valuable to us than they may initially let on.

The way I see it, there are two worlds of objects in our lives. Those we own, and those which become part of us.

For example, I have a pair of gold-framed, pink-lensed Ray-Ban aviators. I purchased my first pair a little over ten years ago. Since then I've gone through three or four pairs, and I just keep rebuying the same glasses.

For me it isn't about the original pair.

It's the way the world looks through rose-colored lenses.

I refuse to see the world any other way.

Any chance I get, I have other people try them on.

Their response is typically, "Wow. I feel like I can see in HD through these."

Yep.

It's that feeling that made me fall in love with them.

I have a journal, well, a rotation of several journals, in which I write almost daily. They have lined pages and a ribbon bookmark. I have several around the house. One almost always travels with me. Anywhere I go, one is bound to accompany me.

There's also this black-and-gold A24 mug from which I drink my coffee. It's a newer addition to the collection, but it brings me great joy. Simple form. Simple design. Well executed.

It accompanies me to my morning coffee hang where I play some brain games, do some studying, and slowly boot up for the day.

It's no secret that our homes slowly absorb the objects which survive multiple chapters of life.

My favorite mug.

The old journal.

The leather sofa.

The camera that's been around forever.

The linen sheets that somehow get softer every year.

The weird pair of tweezers that have outlived a dozen beauty trends.

Eventually they stop feeling like our possessions, and rather,  start feeling more like inhabitants.

The objects themselves don't need to be expensive or special.

They only need to serve you and your routines well.

Though these specific objects are important to me, there are others which lean more sacred or sentimental. I classify the two as different things.

Sentimental is one that has some heartstrings attached.

Sacred almost feels like it has a touch of the irrational attached.

An object can be both, or one or the other.

The sentimental ones are tied to a memory. Perhaps a person or a place. My little tweezers definitely fall partly into this category.

Whereas sacred objects feel almost beyond explanation. Their significance may not be entirely rational. If one were to disappear, it would come with a whole host of woes attached.

And it's perfectly okay to have objects across all areas of that spectrum.

Personally, I can think of a couple objects I find sacred.

One is a particular piece of Olympic memorabilia I've come into over the course of my life. It's closely tied to family, in fact it was gifted by family, and even though we don't currently have it on prominent display, I can't imagine life without it. It's made its way across the country with me, through countless moves, over several decades.

Much more valuable items have been discarded or left behind.

But this one continues on.

But not every sacred object is sentimental.

Sometimes it's just something incredibly cool that speaks to your soul on a level that feels tied to your existential self.

We may stumble across something in an antique shop that perfectly encompasses a certain aspect of our personality better than words or actions ever feel like they could.

That object becomes a quick explanation of all the Venn diagrams that make up our complicated personalities and backstories.

Then there are the objects that simply make everyday life better.

Linen sheets are one of those for me.

The more they age, the softer they become. They're wonderful at keeping you cool in summer and warm in winter, same with a good down duvet, and they're made from a natural material, which I find incredibly important to our wellbeing.

Some objects become meaningful because of memory.

Others become meaningful because they subconsciously improve your life every single day.

All of these items become quiet witnesses to a person's life.

Let’s agree that a well-lived home isn't necessarily one filled with beautiful things... Perhaps instead, it's one where a handful of ordinary objects have stayed long enough to become extraordinary.

To support you in ways others can't or simply haven't had the chance to.

Because in the end, we rarely remember what something cost.

Instead, we remember how it supported us.

How it made our life easier.

How it fit perfectly into a ritual.

How it became part of our routine until we couldn't imagine life without it.

We remember the feeling it helped foster.

And we remember the life we lived around it.

And somewhere along the way, without ever intending to, those ordinary objects quietly become part of us.