My New Wallet

New things bother me, they always have. A running joke in my family for quite a long time was an old wallet that I had and my refusal to replace it. It had been a pocket buddy of mine for about ten years and it showed its age.

It was tattered, frayed, discolored, and torn. 

I loved that wallet. It was an extension of myself, it carried more than just my money and cards. It carried my experiences. 

That wallet was in my pocket when I had my first kiss, it was in my pocket when I saw my first R rated movie, it was in my pocket when I flew out to Los Angeles with the wild hopes of becoming the most famous stand up comic in the world, and it was in my pocket when I returned home with my tail between my legs.

I didn't want to let it go. Its battle wounds reminded of all of the things I had endured while it was in my possession; the things that made me stronger, the things that made me better. 

Everything I had done, my wallet had done with me. It happily held some of the most important things in the world to me, and it never once complained after one of the many perilous journeys through the wash that I accidentally sent it on.

I've got a new wallet now. 

I've had it for about 2 months and I've hated using it. Every time I opened it up it didn't feel right.

But then, today happened.

First, I broke this wallet's washing machine cherry and sent it on its first sudsy journey. And then, just a few short hours ago I accidentally dropped it in a bowl I use for popcorn. Popcorn that I season with Old Bay.

And now, I'll happily call it my wallet. Because in reality, it was never about sharing an experience, it was about independent experiences. My old wallet didn't give a shit about my first kiss, it didn't care about any of that. It endured, in its own way, through the perils of being a wallet. That was enough for me.

I don't know what it says about me that I can't connect with someone or something that hasn't seem some shit, but that's just how it is for me. That's how it's always has been for me.

Maybe that's why I'm looking to be a trauma therapist some day. There's just something about the way we endure, as people, that I find to be truly remarkable.

You can bend us, you can tear us, you can run us through the wash, and though sometimes horrific, those things really end up just making us all more special and interesting in the end.

My new wallet is better than my old wallet. It's design is flawless, it is sleek and is made with superior material, but it wasn't until it showed me that it was capable of being knocked on its ass, and getting back up, that I was interested in it at all. 

The hand we're dealt with is bullshit, it never matters. Some of us get pocket rockets, and some of us get trash, the people who know what they're doing don't even need to look at their cards to make the right call. And really, the call they make is the only interesting part of the game.

My new wallet has some awesome new frays on its edges and it currently smells like the Chesapeake. God, I love my new wallet.