Requiem for a T-Shirt

I must get this off my chest, as it has been already three days since a helicopter sucked my most valuable piece of clothing into oblivion. This is a requiem not for the death of the t-shirt itself (normal people know that inanimate objects can neither die nor live), though initially that was exactly how I thought about it. No, now I mourn memories not things.

See I have few possessions in this year, and those which I do hold onto in my ragged rucksack are innately valuable for many reasons and obviously quite useful for why else would they be in there if I were not using them regularly. I do not hoard souvenirs, collectibles, or trinkets. I limit my load to that which is absolutely essential, including tent, sleeping bag and pad, clothing, minimal toiletries, minimal gadgetries, and a few writing implements including this laptop upon which I now peck out my thoughts.

I guess I have to admit that normally I am quite materialistic and attached to possessions. Anyone who has seen me get violently upset when I’ve lost or misplaced something knows that I don’t tend to take THINGS lightly. At first what makes me angry is the loss of an object as a simple waste, such as yesterday when after nearly one year with the same pair of nice quality Julbo sunglasses, I was suddenly aware that those sunglasses with which I had been bicycling all day were no longer attached to my head. My only guess now is that they simply bounced off during a particularly rough descent and I was too engaged in braking to notice. Like the t-shirt, the sunglasses had sentimental value, not nearly as much, but they had also traveled with me across three continents, up many mountains, through deserts, rivers, and lakes. They were worn down in many places but for the most part completely unscathed after so much use. For me it is this embodied use, the love in the thing so to speak, that creates the value, much more so than the original price paid.

Speaking of lost objects, I have purposely cast off my mountaineering implements, left them in Chamonix with a crazy American climber woman from New Jersey to kindly import to her parents’ house in Millbrook, I think. The point is that I am now traveling light and fast. This European backpacking gig is as they say generally easy on the soul and obviously wretched on the wallet considering today’s American dollar. No screeching dissonance in the streets, the European citizenry appear to be very well fed, and the bottoms of my shoes are so clean I could eat off them if need be. What this means is that out here on the open road of Europe, with sleek white computer at my fingertips, it should be very easy to be tranquil and write my thoughts how I please.

There are other uplifting factors. One is the use of couchsurfing.com. For all who are unfamiliar with the website and/or the practice, suffice to say that it is working very effectively on a global scale to reduce and one day end the dependence on hostels and strange hotels. At the same time, it is allowing me to meet and chill with utterly amazing people from all over the world, stay at their homes, go out on their towns, and generally, gain perspectives that would otherwise be completely inaccessible to regular old tourists. It ain’t perfect, but it definitely should be acknowledged that without it, the world would be a much less evolved place. So yeah for modern evolutions, keep em coming!

Anyways, one last note on the t-shirt. I mentioned it was whisked away by a helicopter, but really I have no conclusive evidence to that end. Fact is the t-shirt was a gift from a friend in Ethiopia, it had no price, it was vibrantly yellow and had a funny, eye-catching design. It was indeed the only cotton t-shirt in my wardrobe. The last thing I did with it was place it neatly over the pillow of the bed I had reserved in the mountain hut of L’envers. For some strange reason though, the hut manager decided (so she says) to make my bed and hang the shirt on the open window. Other Czech guests sharing the same room confirmed that indeed it was hanging there in the morning. Alas, when I returned from climbing in the evening, it was certainly nowhere to be found and the only explanation I was given was that the re-supply helicopter had come in the afternoon and it is distinctly known for sucking away loose objects. So now they would have me believe the existence of my yellow t-shirt is no more; shredded and scattered upon those many mountain crags, stuck in the gullet of some greedy marmot, or perhaps being worn elegantly by an Alpine Ibex. Hopefully it is some combination of the three and not stuffed in another dark corner somewhere.

In honor of Ethiopia, the t-shirt, and the trip itself, I have placed a reminder of the coffee ceremony lady at the top of this entry. A reminder to remember! It is very important for me to remember. Not the t-shirt itself but to encapsulate ALL of the memories, all of the possessions and their connotations, all of the places I’ve been this year, and most importantly to be able to always reconnect and feel again the absolutely brilliant relationships with so many extraordinary human beings that I have met along the way. I cannot say this enough. That now in looking back on this year as it begins to wind up and gasp as I begin to think about returning HOME, there is one thing that keeps reappearing in my synapses and that is simply to REMEMBER. Memories are the thread that creates the Fabric. Mine are raw and intense right now, which is all the more reason to dwell on them. This clothing that I spin upon myself is a mysterious combination of sadness, pain, anger, and joy. It could only be called aliveness. It is a massive geography of the mind; people, places, and interactions; three continents, thirteen countries, a few lost possessions and countless gained. The pot has been set to simmer and I am sitting by to savor.