The Comfort of Old Things

On the back of my bedroom door hangs a drab oatmeal-colored cardigan, though I’m not quite sure if that’s the true color or if it’s turned that shade with age. I lovingly call this unremarkable thing I picked up on a whim at a discount store my “house cardigan.” The only thing that felt special about it was how soft it was. It wasn’t like a regular sweater; instead, it had the feel of the coziest throw blanket you could imagine.

It’s not flattering at all, hangs sort of awkwardly on my body, and has a few holes in it, but it’s one of my most cherished possessions. It’s what I turn to for comfort after a hard day and what I use for warmth on cold nights. It has pockets where I can keep some tissues when I’m under the weather and is large enough to wrap around my body in a loving embrace. It’s not as soft as it used to be; something that’s been lost after countless laundry cycles. But I still love it.

I’ve thought about replacing it with something new, and even found the exact same one not too long ago. Though I purchased it and brought it home, it hangs in the back of my closet untouched. It’s not the same, and I’m not sure it’ll ever be.

It turns out it’s not the cardigan I love, but the moments lived in it. Quiet mornings sipping coffee on the couch. Late nights curled up with my beloved pets, past and present. Difficult times wrapped in its comforting embrace.

The new one is softer, that’s true. It may even fit a little better. It’s everything the old one used to be, before life settled into it. Perhaps I’ll wear it one day, but for now, I’ll continue to wrap myself up in the comfort of old things.

If this resonated, Bella Grace magazine offers more reflections like this.