The Second Row

I have a walk-in closet. Normally it's not "walk-in" because I have so many extra boxes and junk blocking the floor. Currently it's a pile of old textbooks I can't decide whether or not to sell. I have a row of hanging clothes... the ones I use. They're familiar. They smell like me (whatever that smells like).

But there's also another row. The clothes hanging in this row haven't been touched in years. They are from decades long past. Some are precious clothes from my childhood. Some are my mom's dresses from before she met my dad... shoulder pads, big flowers, loose... odd to the tastes of my generation. Some are just "strange" to my culture... dresses from Kuwait or Hungary. They smell of dust. Waiting to be worn, to see the sunlight. To be loved.

Today I decided to push through the first row of clothes. And explore the old ones. The ones loved, but perhaps forgotten... Loved enough to be stored rather than thrown away. But when I brought them to my parents, they couldn't place them... they couldn't remember where they came from.

Some clothes I tried on made me feel like an elegant princess in Kuwait. Some made me feel like a clown. Some made me feel like a hippie.
Some clothes I could only look at... gently feel their loved fabric. I remembered days when the yellow dress nestled comfortably among the clothes hanging in the first row. Now it hangs dusty in the second. The teal sweater that saw many New Year celebrations, the black skirt that sat on the piano bench at church as I plunked through simple hymns.

But some of the clothes I tried on suddenly felt like me.
They might be a little odd, but so am I...

The ones with Hungarian embroidery suddenly grabbed my attention. Maybe it's because I just came from there. Maybe because I'm finally beginning to learn to truly love and cherish my heritage. I don't really know... but I decided they're moving to the first row. They will see sunlight.