I've been reading a lot of articles and blog posts about lifehacks recently, probably because I seem to be evaluating everything: what I want for my life, and how I want to get there, and how I'm keeping track of it. So I was looking at the Hipster PDA - just got a stack of index cards today to write stuff on - and thinking about my Palm, and my Filofax.
And ah, the Filofax. It was a gift from my first boyfriend, the one I thought I'd love forever. And in some ways, I still love him, so very much. He was sixteen, and when my birthday rolled around, he bought me the first, and, to date, only, genuine Filofax I've ever owned. It's black leather, soft and smooth even when it was brand new. And he filled it with love before he gave it to me. Customized inserts with hand-drawn artwork of our names, little love notes, a photo. It's one of the best gifts I've ever received.
I was thinking about using it again, but now, writing this, I realize that I can't. It sits on my shelf, a little slice of the eighteen-year old me and my life then. I know some people would call me sentimental and foolish, and perhaps I am. Perhaps I should let all this go, and put a perfectly good (and still very beautiful) Filofax to use. But doing that would mean either tearing it apart so I could accommodate all the new parts of my life, or leaving it as it is and crippling its usefulness. I don't see the point of the second, and I don't think I'm capable of the first.
I'm not sure why I wrote this now, except that for the first time in years I miss him. I miss being that kind of loved, and I'm wondering if I'll ever find it again. I wonder if I'm the same kind of girl I was then, if I could even be loved that same way again. I wonder if I'll ever be able to look at this Filofax and just see a Filofax, and not our dreams of together.
Funny how writing and thinking about organizing your life can bring back so much pain and all those memories of tenderness.
