...what's in a name?

Attic Envy. That feeling when we're standing in the creaky, dust filled attic of a (much) older relative, pondering the odyssey that was their lives. The objects have lost some level of sentimental value over time but their charm will live on as long as they remain where they sit. By nature, attics are the source of raw vintage, raw honesty: true history. They didn't end up here by chance, they were part of so many definitive moments in the real life of a special person. They tagged along as that person advanced from childhood into adulthood and parenthood. Eventually, perhaps inevitably, the items were replaced by something more modern or useful. The sheer fact that these items were not discarded, but kept in a safe place for decades speaks to the importance that they had for someone at some point in time. Someone needed to be able to go back and touch their favorite teddy bear, sit in their old comfy chair, or flip through seemingly useless newspaper clippings of a bygone era. So we stand here. Imposing on the quiet life of these items as they sit and wait to be revisited. Envious of everything that they have seen, the conversations they have heard. We wonder why, out of thousands of belongings over the years, these specific pieces were rescued from the fate of a dumpsite or yard sale. We envy their importance, their value. We envy the attic itself for being given the responsibility of protectorate for all things old, sacred.