It’s from my college-teaching, single, pre-kid days.
It’s held countless cups of morning coffee, winter-day soups, and even a summer evening bowl of ice cream or two. (Or five. Or more. Ahem.)
It’s held pens and pencils and markers and a plant.
It was gingerly tucked away and packed as I moved offices and apartments and then houses, and came through them all— but not without a chip or two.
Gracious, isn’t this mug a symbol of life? Time passes, we hold things in and let things go. Our roles change. We move. We get chipped along the way. (Maybe even broken.)
We lose a bit of our shine, even. We get worn through the washing and handling of decades.
But there’s still beauty and worth in the worn— the gift of having memories, becoming memories, and showing up for so many kinds of moments.
Shiny and new might be nice… but there is nothing like having something faithful and familiar, that effortlessly provides comfort that only time and experience can bring.
Here’s to mugs, and memories, and sitting well with how time changes us into more comfortable, comforting versions of ourselves.