Springtime makes me nostalgic. I think I read somewhere that smell is the most evocative of the senses for bringing the past rushing back like a jetpack to the face (yes, that was the exact phrasing in the science journal) and I believe it.
The other day, the temps reached 80 degrees ’round here. Momentarily ignoring the snowfall which occurred not 48 hours later, that day heralded the beginning of Warm. And Good. And A New Season.
So that morning- when temperatures were still in the heady mid-60s- I grabbed my favorite springtime jacket from my closet: a completely faded and utterly wonderful denim jacket with an orange glass cat pin on the lapel. The jacket was one of my favorite purchases from my time in London (and the cat pin is just the tip of the hoardin’ iceberg from my childhood).
Back then, I was 20 years old and studying theatre in what is arguably the best place in the world to do so. It was springtime there, too (although sliiightly wetter) and I was determined to find the world’s most perfect jean jacket from Portobello Market.
I could not tell you why, exactly, I needed a jean jacket that badly- nor why I knew beyond all doubt that Portobello Market with its stalls of vintage and bohemian wares would be THE place to find this magical purchase…but I’m stubborn. (Slightly.)
And horrific with directions. (Slightly.)
Can’t find that jacket- even atop the London Eye.
So my ever-patient boyfriend led the way through the city. (He was also of the Americano variety, but possessed a maddening ability to never end up on the wrong train running express.) Once there, I found the perfect denim jacket within minutes. But- feeling like it was way too easy- I spent the next hour checking out other stalls and businesses and yes, stopping for a snack before eventually rounding back to that first jean jacket seller. (Was there a booming market for denim jackets back in ’01? An entire vendor’s stall? Really?)
It was perfect. And faded, even then. And perhaps the slightest bit too snug, especially when I buttoned it over my trusty red hoodie.
Like I said- perfect.
And so I wore this jacket the other morning. Not even buttoned in the slightest, but it still felt like an across-the-pond hug. It smelled like a really distinct cotton, which is strange to even acknowledge. I mean- cotton, right? But it was the same jacket scent that reminded me of days spent with Shakespearean text and acrobatics and fencing and pretending that a career in the classical arts was what I really wanted.
Even though I’ve always loved travel and adventure, I’ve never been particularly good at it. So the scent of that jacket made me feel a little lonely, too.
And when Radiohead’s Fake Plastic Trees came on the radio that recent morning, it reminded me that my then-boyfriend sang that song for karaoke at our year-end party and how it had struck me as sad and nostalgic and lonely even then.
So the god of radio deejay conspired with the god of here’s an article of clothing which you really oughtn’t be wearing in this day and age and they both encouraged me to have All The Feels.
If I could be who you wanted…
If I could be who you wanted all the time…
(Come on, Deep Thinker Keely. Of course those lyrics made you feel melancholy. It’s a damn depressing song! 20 year-olds are stupid.)
But the recent Feels seem a bit more warranted. Because it’s been thirteen years since that springtime in London. Thirteen years since I felt like I wasn’t particularly good at anything I was studying or doing- certainly not enough to make a paying career out of it. And thirteen years since I was certain that the answer to all of my heartache and self-doubt and insecurity about the future could be solved by one perfect denim jacket.
Who knows? Maybe it was.
After all, every single thing I’ve done since that semester has led me exactly to where I am now: Chicago and playwriting and the quiet knowledge that I’m finally finally doing the right thing and a house full of people that leave me the complete opposite of “lonely.”
And hey- that jacket still fits.
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