I had a letterman jacket (amongst a few other items) that I let go that irrationally weights on my mind. It was woolen, bright red, with black leather sleeves. I remember vividly when I got it.
One year (I think it was early high school) the outlet mall about an hour south of where I lived opened up Thanksgiving night for early black Friday shopping. Being the consummate bargain hunters my mom and I were, we decided to check it out. It was a wash of humanity in the middle of the night, wandering around the outdoor mall, tearing at deals, crossing the street without regards to the too bright headlights. We were at the Nike store and I immediately fell in love with this jacket. It was super cool and nothing like any of my peers would own (maybe other than that one other girl who was even more obsessed with, and skilled at, basketball than I was). I remember my parents were skeptical, but I talked them into it. It was one of the higher priced items we bought that night. It was packed neatly in tissue paper into a gift box and placed in an oversized paper bag. It was the one gift for me. I remember crossing the street in a swarm of people holding the bag. Walking back to the car with the prize of the night.
I proceeded to wear the crap out of the jacket. I was careful with it. But I wore it with pride. It was really hard to wear a backpack with those bulky sleeves, but I somehow managed. I loved that thing until it faded out of my normal wardrobe.
Fast forward to (I think) 20 years later, I was clearing out my closet for a garage sale. The jacket was worn and it no longer fits. The sleeves were getting sticky like old rubber would. I knew I would never wear it again even if I kept it. I decided to put it on the sale rack. There were some other items I was sentimental about as well. Like a few tokidoki hoodies that I wore for years but no longer fits. This guy who was clearly treasure hunting with his girlfriend swooped in at a particular busy point and swept up all of these items. I tried to negotiate on the price a bit, because he clearly knew he snagged all of the most valuable items and was likely to resale them. “What are you going to do with them if I don’t buy them” he asked. I relented and let them go. To this day I can’t shake the feeling I was taken advantage of.
Rationally I was glad to have let go of these items I will never use again. They no longer fit me and would likely sit around to gather dust. But there are some parts of me that feels like I let go of a part of my soul, part of my identity. Items that made me unique at particular points in my life. I felt like I had no control over how it went. I didn’t particularly liked how the transaction went. I feel like the guy was being a complete douchbag and I was talked into the transaction. I felt powerless. I don’t wonder about what would have happened if I said no, because the logical thing would be having these items still sitting in my closet. The head and the heart doesn’t always align.
Regret is not rational.
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