A standard 8 ¾” by 11 ½” manila envelope was handed to me while I sat on a familiar bench. Grinning, the messenger said, “I’ve been getting rid of a lot of stuff lately and thought you should have this.”

I think, but am too polite to say, “Of course, we’re all in our sixties, and we’re all getting rid of stuff. Why are you accomplishing your project by adding to mine?” The rumpled envelope was sealed with the clasp but not licked shut. I looked inside, and we shared a few laughs together. I casually pulled out two papers buried haphazardly mid-stack. Using our reading glasses and squinting in the streetlight shadows, we started quizzing each other about the recorded names, dates, and locations. More questions than answers were generated.

We found ourselves wondering when, where, and with whom we did whatever the  gift envelope told us we had done in the 1980s. And no, neither of us had been drinking.  Well, at least not on the night we were entertained by the puzzling envelope. I carried  the gift home and promptly stored it in my “save for later” drawer. 

Recently, I was a guest along with other statistically eligible senior citizens when  the hosts’ recent Master of History graduate was genuinely shocked to hear how vinyl  records were being purged from our homes. She leaned into the conversation with,  “You mean you are really getting rid of your vinyl? Do you guys know how lucky you are  to even have had vinyl to hold all these years? Everything is digital now. We won’t have anything to hold when we’re as old as you are now.”

The “retiree want to bees” sipped their wine and continued naming record after  record like it was a biography of their individual and collective lives. No detail was  spared. One person shared how he dusted off his turntable to have a final listen while  holding each art-filled jacket cover before packing the collection away for upcycling.

The next day I unpacked the bulky gift envelope from the drawer and decided  “later” was now. Like my dinner companions and their vinyl, I needed to touch and hold these memories before packing them away or possibly deciding they were more  appropriate for the recycling bin. The mismatched contents poured out onto my desk.

The numerous addresses on the small envelopes provoked memories of the beds, neighborhoods, and bathtubs I once called home. More questions surfaced. “Should this treasure trove of former return addresses be made into an Excel spreadsheet? Will I ever need to provide these locations to any government agency again? Does my friend need a list for her records? Or should I simply accept there is no need for these primary source details to be saved personally by me, by her or by any digital document for today or tomorrow’s world?”

Rediscovering that some of my domiciles were as short as eight weeks, I began to doubt whether they even qualified as a residence. I sure did move around a lot. No wonder I loved my Plymouth Horizon hatchback and plastic assembly furnishings.

Before inspecting the contents of any of the one-way letters, I mused: “Did I really take time to handwrite all these pages?” After selecting a couple of shorter pieces out of the heap as if playing a game of Jenga or Pick-Up Sticks, another set of questions began brewing. “Should I hide these from my spouse, my adult children, or God help me, my mother?” This last question was of course ridiculous. Furthermore, this collection of particulars was unlikely to have required censoring by the Federal Communications Commission (FCC) if any one of the three television networks (ABC, CBS, NBC) resorted to our foolery to desperately fill airtime. On the other hand, it wasn’t exactly suitable for children's PBS programming either. Containing my delusional self-importance, I decided there was something to be gained by keeping my wayward decisions and indecisions literally under wraps.

Any social science professional could easily sum up this body of work under the  umbrella of uncertainty. Uncertainty about finding a job, taking the job, leaving the job.  Uncertainty about applying to graduate school, studying again, possibly failing licensing  exams. Managing my financial uncertainty involved numerous steps starting with  depositing my meager earnings from various part-time jobs in a brick-and-mortar bank.  When paying bills, I had to be certain the payee would receive them on time to avoid  bounced check charges from both the payee and the bank. The fewer bounced checks,  the more Friday Happy Hours could be enjoyed.

My ongoing love of travel and nature also brought some pages alive. Many of the reflections about nuclear and extended family ties still oddly rang true today. Yet, the number one unifying topic in nearly every correspondence was our mutual quest to  meet a partner. A partner who would fill our free time with love and companionship, so that we could stop endlessly writing to one another about the never-ending frustrating  search.

Today my friend and I have regular group chats with our larger cohort of freshman year friends. We use video calls to catch up on current joys and challenges, memories of yesteryears and the color of our hair. More meaningfully, we can all quietly recognize that feeling of uncertainty in each other. We have all been there at one time or another and know the importance and support listening provides.

I have told many people about the envelope gifted to me. Repeatedly, I hear “that is one special friend.”

With my own grin and a smirk, I usually respond, “Or a pack rat having found a  way to get rid of her stuff by adding to mine.”

Like other love letters and older relationship memorabilia, this envelope will get lost again soon. The exchange of those jabbering letters from our twenties solidified a college friendship that has lasted a lifetime. I just saw my friend a month ago.  Neither of us needed the envelope to pick up where we left off. As for my local dinner companions, their lack of vinyl has never inhibited a gathering in over 25 years nor will it going forward.

As I age, there is no doubt that for me, memories are made in the people and places we are fortunate enough to share, not in the “stuff” we hold onto.