A Profitable Read

Some people are collectors. They search for rare, unique, and meaningful things. The complete book series, frisbees from each tournament they played in, or Funkopops. Some collections are meant to be looked at – like autographed sports memorabilia, while other collections are meant to be enjoyed – like board games. Some collectors collect for the joy of completing a set, while others are on a lifelong quest to find the missing piece to a long-held collection, unsure of whether they’ll ever find the missing piece in the back corner of a pawn shop or in the empty-nester’s eBay dump. Some collections are status symbols – like a good wine cellar or some classic cars, while others are just a major nerd alert – looking at you, Star Wars action figures.

Collecting isn’t bad, I guess, as long as you’re collecting, not hoarding.

Some people collect stories and experiences – a book of passport stamps or fridge magnets that tell rich stories of sunsets in faraway lands or glasses of wine on terraces in sunny climates. Sometimes these memories are the collection itself – a conscious choice to spend a thousand dollars on something intangible.

Sometimes, people collect stories and experiences to parade around. They place their value in their ability to relate their experiences and stories to a rapt audience, even when that audience is just waiting for a break in the stream of words to make a comment or relate the experience to one of their own. That waiting is dreadful. Questions hover: “When I get a chance to talk, will the conversation have moved far past my contribution?” “Do they even care to hear my thoughts?” “What was I going to say again?” “Will they finish their story and abruptly say, ‘well, it’s getting late. I should be on my way,’ leaving my words forever unspoken?”

These types of collectors make me wonder. As I sit and listen as they regale tales of grand adventures and strange people, I wonder: am I a story in their collection? Am I just a character in the Complete Works of _____? Do I have a name in the stories, or am I just “this guy I know”?

I didn’t ask to be a part of your collection. I don’t want to be displayed on your bookshelf. I’m real – not just a vignette of a trip long ago or a conversation at the store where I said something dumb. Please don’t take me to your dinner party or night out – am I even really there if you are just showing off your collection?

Is it to be human to wonder if it’s better to be mentioned as a collector’s conquest or to not be mentioned at all?