Time Capsule

Long ago, in my eternal wisdom as a five year old, I began keeping a journal. Daily diaries slowly sputtered out as I became bored with my own life and gave way to doodles created with my mother’s expensive art supplies. Miscellaneous leaves and flowers were shoddily taped and pressed throughout the pages, as well as imagined treasure maps that lead to gold and rubies that were buried somewhere on my grandparents farm. The journal was the complete and utter chaos of a young child, but through the years I somehow managed to keep one thing consistent: my new year’s resolution. This essentially became my once-per-year religion where I would sit down and scratch out a plan for the year to come. Even now, what seems like hundreds of years later, my resolutions are still the only thing that I could count as “consistent” within my life (unless you can count my astonishing ability to always be inconsistent, consistent). 

My first resolutions were not much. There were only two items, and only one got completed, leaving me with a meager fifty-percent success rate on my very first new year's resolutions. At the top of the horribly crooked list, scratched out in charcoal pencil, was “reed a chaptr book”. This resolution, if I remember, was completed late in the year when I began to read Junie B. Jones. The second, was much less achievable for a five year old: “bild a tree hous”. As one can imagine, not many parents are willing to buy their pre-k child a bunch of lumber and then set them loose with power tools. Thus, to my disappointment, I could not fulfill my resolution to build a tree house.

The following years showed my resolutions maturing as I did myself. Middle school gave way to resolutions like “Get rid of Gabby” (in terms of friendship, I believe, but I wouldn’t doubt it if murder crossed my mind at least once) and “Learn how to do makeup”. Like most teens, I entered highschool with the optimism of creating a “new me”. My freshman year resolutions painted me as determined to achieve all A’s and not turn in a late assignment. This particular resolution followed me through all four years of high school with varying success. I did well my freshman year, began to slip in sophomore year, had a mental breakdown and almost failed English in junior year, and finally got it back together in time to graduate my senior year. That mental breakdown junior year brought a lot of clarity to me, and I began soul searching in earnest to find the thing(s) that would make me happy. The resolutions before my final semester of high school reflected that: “Be thankful every day”. Since then, this simple task has been at the top of every resolution list that I have made. It was also during high school that I began putting my resolutions in a biscuit tin that ought to have been holding miscellaneous sewing supplies rather than a bunch of crumpled and folded papers.

Accountability became a big thing in college. Nobody cared if I was flying or failing. It was all up to me. “Complete daily lists” and “Walk dogs 1x per week” are likely what kept me sane, along with the lifetime friends that I found along the way. I didn’t have any dogs myself, but I knocked on doors until I found people that would let me walk their pooch. I never asked for money, but often times a small tip would find its way to me. I would use bits of these tips to keep a small bag of dog treats with me at all times. Not only did I get outside, but being with animals has never failed to have a medicinal effect on my mind and body. 

Throughout adulthood, I did my best to keep goals realistic and to do things that would make me happy. Resolutions like “read 5 books” and “try 5 new recipes” kept me exploring new ideas and creative outlets even with the monotonous workings of a 9 to 5 job hanging over me, even if it was just a few pages before bed or a different meatball recipe for a potluck.  I began keeping a journal again, and just like when I was five, diaries made up but a tiny portion of its contents. The flowers were more expertly pressed than before, and the doodles were finally befitting of the quality art supplies that I inherited from my mother. Quotes, poetry, and short stories were scribbled all around the lucky pennies and four leaf clovers that were taped to the pages. This journal is where my further resolutions were kept, until every inch of the pages were filled and I was forced to begin anew in a fresh sketchbook. 

After the journals began piling up, I upgraded the biscuit tin to a wooden box with a little bronze latch. I like having the latch. It makes the box feel like its containing something secret, something sacred, and in a way, it is. That box has become a time capsule, and one that I am eternally grateful to my past self for creating. Once per year, I open the box and look through it. I smile at some, frown at others, and chastise myself for not including some resolutions that I really ought to have thought of. “Visit grandma” didn’t come into my yearly resolutions until the year that she died, and I still kick myself for not appreciating her more. It’s knowing my past self that has helped to shape my hopes for the future. I still fail some resolutions, but that’s all a part of life. I can’t be perfect like I once hoped to be, but I can embrace my imperfections and, with resolve, better myself a little more than I did the year before. 

My time capsule is one of my most sacred objects that I own, right up there with my mother’s paintings and my grandmother’s gold necklace with an ivory rose. Now that you, my daughter, have turned five, I am eager to help you figure out your resolutions and then place them in the biscuit tin where mine once resided. It will be up to you if you wish to continue the tradition, but even if you do not, I will keep that little time capsule along with this letter for when you grow old enough to enjoy yours like I do mine. It is the little things that will make you happy, and it’s those little things that will get you through life. One resolution at a time.

With love,

Your Mother