Sentimental Value

posted at 10:57 pm
on Apr. 7, 2009

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What an odd species humans are.  What weird things we do.  And how we manage to actually grow and prosper—it astounds me. Here’s just one example:

When Susie and I were backpacking around Europe in the fall of 1998, we stayed for a night in a hotel in Kosice, Slovakia.

While there, I took the bar of soap because it was small and it came in a nice plastic holder, and because I thought we might need soap at some later stop.

We didn’t, but it was a handy thing to have in my Dopp kit, and I kept it even after our travels ended.

In fact, I’ve carried it in my kit ever since.  I’ve taken it to conferences, on vacations, on holidays, back to see my Mom, even on some camping trips.  It’s been to South America, Europe, Asia, and Africa.

It’s the most well-traveled bar of soap I know.

Recently, I was on Salt Spring Island, and the rented cabin I was staying in didn’t have any soap.  And so, I had a chance to use the bar for the first time ever.

But here’s the thing.  Instead of being happy that this patient little bar of soap was finally getting the use it deserved, I was hesitant, regretful, sad.  I was even tempted to shower without using it. Not because it was rare, or valuable, or broken, only just because it had traveled with me for so long, and it seemed to have powerful sentimental value built up.

But what the hell is the point of having it, if I am not ready to use it when its time is nigh?  Why shouldn’t I be happy, that it was being put to the purpose for which I was saving it, for which it exists, for which it was made?  If I’m not prepared to use it when I need soap, then why the hell was I carrying it around with me in the first place?

These feelings perplexed me, because they point to bigger issues that we all face.  The bottle of wine you save for a special occasion; the clothes you don’t wear because they’re too nice; the things you don’t say because it’s not the right moment.  They’re all examples of sentiment getting in the way of enjoyment.

Some people get that—that old palaces can have new glass pyramids added to them, and it improves them. That old books and songs can be remade into better ones.  That restaurants can add new dishes to the menu, and remove old ones to make room.

Sentimental behavior, it seems, can be as much a straight-jacket, a limit on behavior, and a damper on high spirits, as it can be a comfort and a positive reminder of past experiences.  I realized in the shower (where all good ideas start) that sentiment must be used carefully, if it’s not to hinder the growth of new memories.

That little bar of soap, that I carried with me so long?  It frothed up nicely.

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