My Two Cents: Unseen Magnitudes
In college, the wall above my bed was filled with sticky notes of quotes. There were probably 20+ that made the cut. Then when I moved out and had to take down my quote wall, I retired them to my scrapbook. In that stack of sticky notes was one about how it’s the little things. Those are the things that make up the most meaning in our lives. The little Porsche. The little David Yurman bracelet. The little Mastercraft. Just kidding – it’s the little moments and monotonous routines that make us smile. For one example – it’s the time a parent stands outside in the driveway and watches as we drive away. This was captured in an article where a girl took a photo of her parents every time she left her house until they passed away (article attached below).
The moments alone seem ordinary at the time – but when the story is complete, we look back under a new lens. We receive delayed gratification from little things. At the time they seem mundane, but later they reveal a new meaning that gives us a new perspective and gratification – much like vacations. The majority of vacation is unremarkable and prosaic, with a few exotic moments sprinkled in. But we look back at trips with rose tinted glasses and smile at the warm, fuzzy, and delayed gratification we get from them.
Though my story is still in the upward climb portion, I find myself sneaking a peak over my shoulder at my past trek and seeing completion and full-circle moments made from little things. When I was a little kid, I loved when my grandparents would visit because my grandma would always play under the stairs with me. I could never get my grandpa to go under the stairs because he was extremely claustrophobic, but my grandma was always game to play kitchen with me in the alcove. I also remember going to Sioux City with my dad to visit my grandparents and the thrill of playing in my grandma's bedroom with her makeup and jewelry. I remember that house, the one my dad spent his entire childhood in, and its little intricacies like the green shag carpet in the guest room. I forgot about these little moments for a while until I noticed the same jewelry box from my childhood memories on my grandma's nightstand in her nursing home room. The summer before my grandma passed, I worked at her nursing home – and I’m really glad I did because it allowed me to spend more time with her in her later years. I got to walk beside my grandma as she walked carefully to the dining hall for breakfast, poetically similar to how she would walk under the stairs with me when I was a little girl. I got to revisit a lot of my childhood memories with my grandma, but this time through a different lens. For the first time in my life, I got to see a full circle – a combination of little memories rehashed in a new way. My grandma played with me at the beginning of my life, and I got to eat breakfast with her at the end of hers.
The contents of my late grandma's jewelry box now reside in my room, miles away from where she lived. Little bits and pieces of her are carried with me wherever I go. I was unaware of the magnitude these little memories and moments would have on me when my little kid fingers would ask her to try on her rings. If you take a second to look, you’ll find the little things everywhere. You just might not know the magnitude of the rest of their story until much, much later.
Over Christmas break, I noticed another little thing come full circle. When I was in middle school, my brother Jack was my alarm clock – he would come down every morning, climb up my loft bed, and ask if we could watch Curious George before I had to get ready for school. This was before Jack was old enough to go to school, so he was just happy one of his siblings had a later start time and could hang out before breakfast. For years we watched Curious George every morning, and it seemed like nothing special. But then when I was home for Christmas break, Jack (who is the age I was at the time of the previous memory) would come down to my room every night before bed to chat. What started as a single point on the graph morphed into a circle. We have no idea what the extent of our little moments will be – which ones will become the big ones that make us smile and cry and laugh. It can only be determined when the story is complete! All we can do is take more time to appreciate the little things for what they are: the big things. Because, in the end, when we look back on our lives, it’s not the grand gestures or the dramatic events that stand out the most. It’s the collection of small, quiet moments, unremarkable at the time, that shape us, comfort us, and stay with us forever. Our little things carry unseen magnitudes.
