A Collective Soul
the collections we keep
When I was younger, but not very young, I collected penguins. Little porcelain penguins, stuffed penguins, stationery with penguins on it, penguin Christmas ornaments. The shelves in my room were adorned with all sorts of penguins and I adored every one of them, especially the stuffed Opus from Bloom County that I still have today. I did not buy all of these penguins myself; once you let on that you are collecting something, people will fall over themselves to add to your collection. Every birthday and Christmas gift those years were some sort of penguin ephemera, and I joyously accepted each gift until fickleness took over and the joy of penguin collecting left me as suddenly as it appeared. I packed up all those flightless birds eventually. They gave way to other collections.
There was a time when I collected comic books and graphic novels, when they were stacked high on bloated shelves that were crammed also with action figures of the characters within those books. Once I started on a comic, I saw it through, buying every issue that came out, often replicating those issues when I’d buy the collections that sprouted up. I packed up all those comics eventually, sold them at a hugely successful garage sale in which I purged from my life anything to do with the person I just broke up with. Comics, toys, video games, all my carefully curated collections sold to the highest bidder. What was once dear to me had become a constant source of sadness.
Then there was the Star Wars era, ostensibly that was for my children, but also for me. We collected figures and toys and Lego sets and clothing and anything that had a Star Wars logo on it. We went on weekly trips to Amok Time, a store that catered to those of us for whom consuming the latest pop culture was as important as breathing. We sat outside Toys R Us waiting for a truck to pull up with the latest shipment of space toys, and I often wondered if my kids cared nearly as much about collecting these items as I did (the answer is no). I sold off all the Star Wars stuff when my kids lost interest and when I had to move to a smaller place. I cried when someone bought the Ewok treehouse; I nearly had a tug of war with a small child over a Boba Fett figure I didn’t want to let go of.
You could say I collected husbands as well, though none of them aged as well as collectible toys did. I discarded each one of them - or at least the memory of them - as if I was dumping them off at a Salvation Army depot. We parted ways unceremoniously each time. I’ve given up on this collection.
There were so many other things along the way. Beanie Babies we drove all over the island to find. Power Ranger toys that were given away at McDonald’s; we ate so many happy meals in pursuit of the White Ranger zord. Pokemon cards. Pogs. The list goes on. And each time the thrill of the chase would eventually wear off and I’d be left with an armful of useless remnants of yet another pop culture craze and I’d donate the collections or sell them to someone who though they were going to fund their kid’s college education with a gross of stuffed animals.
I love collecting things. But I no longer have the patience, money, or room for any of it. I have my albums and I’ll keep buying them, but I have to tamp down the urge to be a completist, to have every record in a band’s discography. It can drive you crazy. Make no mistake, I want to do this, but my bank account does not allow it. I’ve learned to live within my means and in this instance that means not buying albums every day of the week. I have a vast collection of books I keep adding to even though I haven’t read a full book since the pandemic started. I guess that part of my personality will always be there, the part that likes to have sets of things, groups of things, collections that always need additions. I find comfort in adding to collections, as if buying things will somehow fill the void in my life.
You’d think after forty something years of being a collector I would figure out that this is not the case, that buying and buying and adding and completing is in no way going to make me a better person, a stronger person, a more emotionally stable person. But I can keep trying. There’s always records to buy.