A few months ago, Tara and I took our recycling to the drop off site. It seems every time we stop there, there is also a collection of junk that people just leave. We’ve seen a baby crib, several mattresses and lots of broken furniture.
On this particular day, there was a big box of books that was left by the can and plastic container. I’m always looking for used books for art projects, found poetry projects. Eagerly, I started to rummage, hoping to find treasure.
The books were a mix of paperbacks, recipe books and coffee table books. (Tara found a lovely coffee table book on wolves). As we were rummaging, I wondered why someone would dump a box of books at the recycling site. Then, I saw them. Two green diaries stamped ‘1981’ and ‘1982’. I realized someone had died and someone else had gone through their stuff, to clean out the deceased’s home. The diaries, like the books, were trash, things of no value and easily discarded.
I grabbed the diaries. I didn’t like that the diaries had been discarded so unceremoniously. I felt like I owed the owner of the diaries an acknowledgment. Not in a voyeuristic way. Instead, I wanted to honor the author. Their life had ended. Their memories, like their books, were thrown in a box and left out in the elements.
The diaries had one page per day for the entire year. There was a section for addresses in the front (that were scarce in both diaries), then the diary itself. Some days, the writer just jotted a few sentences, other days, the whole page was filled.
The entries were simple. Mentions of friends in the hospital, or dinner out. I didn’t read it cover to cover. That seemed like a violation. The author seemed to have had a quiet, unassuming life.
I became convinced that the author was a woman. I had the impression that in 1981 and 1982 she lived in the Midwest with her husband. Still, I’m not entirely sure. She mentioned Mass often but there was nothing noted anywhere what her name was, but why would there be?
I kept the diaries on our buffet while I thought of the best way to properly dispose of them. Then, I decided that I would take them on one of our hikes and leave them in the forest. I felt that was a nice way to acknowledge a stranger.
We had our Saturday hike yesterday and I kept an eye out for the proper place for the diaries. After we rounded a bend, the perfect place appeared. A moss covered forest floor with early wildflowers that had started to bloom. Tall trees loomed above the moss that covered some rocks. It was beautiful. A Natural Cathedral.
Tara and I each had a diary and found a quiet spot amongst the rocks. We randomly picked a page from our diary and read the entry to the woods. Then, I read then entry from January 1, 1981, and Tara read the entry from December 31, 1982. We stood silently, then I placed the diaries between the moss covered rocks. The diaries, and memories within them, now belong to the forest.
I don’t know who the diaries belonged to, but I strongly felt that she deserved better than being discarded. I like to think she was a nice woman, whose life was filled with friendships and love. I like to think she was loved and that she is missed.
At the end of our hike, I was still thinking of her. Her life, her discipline of writing in her diaries, and how simpler life was forty years ago. I hope she approves of the placement of her diaries in the forest. Diaries that faithfully recorded an anonymous life.
Today, our world is anything but anonymous. Social media has taught us that the spot light must always be on us. We’ve been trained that our worth is dictated by social media likes and multiple followers. We swallow the lie that our lives can’t be fulfilled unless every minute detail is shared with strangers.
There is beauty in being anonymous. Being noticed is always nice, but being comfortable in anonymity takes guts. It allows us to live in freedom from unrealistic expectations. It is a brave declaration against the societal norms of today’s world. So let us be brave and not fear an anonymous life. Let us find satisfaction and value from within. And when we do, we will shine.
The above photo is the diary entry from March 15, 1981.
Leave a Reply