I know the theme for this first segment of “The Keeping Room” is beginnings.  But honestly, I don’t know how to talk about beginnings, at my age, without talking about endings; new makes me think about used and young makes me think about old.  Beginnings don’t happen without endings.

I have on my favorite T-shirt; sleeveless, white, pond-water soft.  The V-neck is frayed open from at least 10 years of service, the first five years for out and about, the last five for lawn mowing, exercise and occasional bedtime.

I loved this shirt from 0 – 5 years old for its fit and its versatility.  I liked the way my arms looked in it – tan and strong – and I liked that I could dress it up or down according to my mood.  When I wore it I felt ready for anything; not young necessarily, but like I was solid in the right places and yet able to adapt to change.

The seams of my shirt opened up right around the same time that youthful fashion had them arriving that way brand new at Abercrombie & Fitch and Gap and Club 21.  I had other clothes – shorts, jeans, chinos – that similarly came into bloom, their hems fringed with strings, their material gone baby-butt silky. Like my T-shirt, they slipped into place when I put them on and, regardless of the laundry detergent du jour, they smelled like me.

At least half of my clothes are old like this.  I guess I like what I like.  When I go shopping for new clothes it is often predictable what is going to happen.

My daughter has suggested that I have enough white shirts and khakis to deck out a marching band, I have clients who ask if off-white linen is secret society therapist uniform and I have to agree with them.  I get in the store and my eyes go right over slinky knits and shiny things and anything scratchy or loud.  Regardless of what I set out to buy, I can’t seem to linger long enough in the new arrivals aisles unless I find stone-washed, pre-faded, and generally abused items and I cannot bring myself to pay extra for something I can do on my own over the next 5 to 10 years.   I buy a white shirt and go out for coffee.

Which brings me to my point.

People seem to value old things.  From historic homes to antiques to old cars to vintage clothing, consumers appreciate and pay extra for the quality that comes with things from another era; so much so that we have entire industries devoted to recreating the look and feel of something that has already lived a well worn life.  There is no effort made to cover up the signs of days and years gone by as these are evidence of authenticity.  Where the exterior finish has grown thin, the owners, or prospective buyers, slide their hands and their eyes over the surface and say ahhh as they breath a sigh of comfort.

I want to be old like that.

I want to see myself that way – authentic, well built, comfortable, rich with history – and I want to know that it adds to my value, in my own mind and in other’s.

That when people are shopping for a writer, a teacher, a friend, a therapist, a lover, that they will come across me (hopefully not hanging on a rack or crumpled in the sale bin) and hang out long enough for us to check each other out.  See if we like the fit.

After all, a lot of people would pay extra for that.