Vol. 89: In the archives

It’s funny that I used to be a more nostalgic person when my life was shorter. In my teens and early twenties, I was constantly reflecting on memories, moments, the way a kid holds onto summer camp during the interminable school days, the way I’d say my heart belonged in Meru all over my Facebook statuses, a place I only spent ten days, compared to life in Ann Arbor. Maybe it’s because back when I was so eager to fit in, I fiercely held on to moments where I felt accepted, happy. Maybe now life is more settled. Or maybe my brain got fuzzy, my memories got scarier when the pandemic cleaved our lives into a before and after 2020. I’m still clawing my way back to seeing with clarity.

The other day I caught up with a friend who I hadn’t seen since 2021 and has since lived many lives: two cities, loss, grief, becoming a parent through inheritance, starting her own business. I remarked that I have the same job, same partner, so not much has changed, but then over our breakfast unspooled the story of my in-laws, of our wedding and our family, of the shift from the painful familial homophobia she heard about way back when to the tenuous but beautiful tolerance I now experience, of how they love their daughter through inviting and welcoming me into their home. Turns out so much has changed.

When my wife and I first began dating with 500 miles between us, we’d tell each other bedtime stories of our memories together. We didn’t have that many to pick through, so we’d retell the same handful of moments: when I showed up at her childhood home on a December night and she opened the door in gray sweatpants, when I first told her I loved her and she panicked, when she drove 10 hours to DC and I had Apple Jack’s waiting for her (reader, her cereal at the time was apple cinnamon cheerios. I was close, I guess).

As a writer, I see the beauty in returning to memories and creating a narrative with meaning and craft. But as a person with a complicated relationship with my past selves, nostalgia can be a tricky minx.

My alma mater, University of Michigan, will be permanently deleting any emails older than two years as of the end of February this year, so I had to dive into my old account to see what from the archives I need to keep. Here’s what was important to 2010 - 2014 Allison enough to save in my “special” folder.

Emails from my host family from Kenya: there are many updates from the school where my host father served as principal, many notes of love and care. I traveled to Kenya in 2009, 2010 and 2012 and kept in touch with my friends there for years. When I began the process of coming out in 2014, I slowly left those relationships behind. I was afraid of rejection and didn’t give them a chance to respond one way or another. I don’t have the bandwidth to unpack that decision, especially when I read things like “we love you and treasure you in our hearts. you are one of us and treasure you so much.”

The majority of the emails surround the student org I was a part of, Human Rights Through Education (HRTE, pronounced “hurtie”). We held convenings on human rights, topics ranging from human rights in urban America, war and conflict, xenophobia, mass incarceration. It was a formative experience not only as an event planner but as a person who cares about the world. I was so eager to learn more about what can be done to change the world, and got to work together with so many people - largely women - who I admire to this day, even as we’ve lost touch. Today I often fear I’m less idealistic and far from who I was back then, but reading the emails, I see parallels to my current day job and what I did for fun during my undergrad days. Below are some excerpts of emails written by HRTE friends:

1. Minutes from what was the strangest HRTE meeting of all time:

2. today one of my friends texted me and said that our conference looks so great and asked how to get involved in hrte :) (and hes a boy!)

3. we're getting such great feedback guys! My friend texted me today saying "Just saw a poster for your speaker series, it's an unreal line up- very impressed."”

4. TOMORROW IS WELCOME WEDNESDAY AND $2 LATTE DAY!! PRAISE BE!

5. I'm jealous of all of you who still have more years of HRTE adventures and as I said, I can not wait to see what you guys accomplish.

6. This reminded me of the card that I gave you one time and now hangs on your bulletin board near your bed... I love and appreciate you so, so much and am incredibly thankful that you've allowed me to lean on you so heavily these past few days.

Most emails are from people I’m no longer in touch with; the exceptions are:

Four emails from my mom:

1. My Delta SkyMiles number

2. The Netflix password;

3. My mom telling me how proud she is when I got into Michigan in Washington

4. An email I wrote to my mom at 11:35 PM after a distant friend was assaulted in Puerto Rico; (REDACTED) says she doesn't mind talking about it because she doesn't remember the exact incident where it happened but really just feels awkward bringing it up because it's this strange thing... I don't know. I just knew you'd be asleep but I wanted to tell you because it's this one thing that's scary and hard. and her response, which offers comfort as I reread it today.

Two emails from my best friend Julia (a fellow HRTE alum):

1. A mass email update from her time in the Peace Corps in Dominican Republic

2. A lengthy, beautiful note congratulating me on my graduation (excerpted here with her permission): I know you saw how anxious I got around this time last year, and I am sure you feel somewhat similarly.  I know there is this desire to “make it” in our twenties, and I have no doubt that you will!  But I think 20s are also a time to be kind to ourselves, we live in a world where we have so little control and a world that seems to be dangerously unsteady.

Two emails are from people who have since died:

Fredda Clisham, a firecracker of a woman who worked at the hospital where I volunteered; the email was wishing her a happy 93rd birthday in October 2012 from my fall internship in Washington DC. I wrote, Every Wednesday morning, I think of our time together fondly. My internship is going very well and I love being in D.C. during an election year, but I miss Ann Arbor, you, Debbi and the Women's Health Resource Center. FOUR MORE YEARS!

My Grandma, responding to a blog post I’d sent her from CollegeFashionista.com, where I’d been street style spotted. I’m still proud of the outfit, TBH, and though the web page is long since deleted, I remember clearly I spoke in my interview about how I never wore leggings to class (if only 19 year-old Allison knew that she’d now regularly wear leggings to her place of employment!). Grandma wrote: I agree with your mom--you have always been our Fashionista and now it's official.  I remember when you were about three years old and already picking out coordinated outfits for yourself to wear.  Grandpa and I agree with our English friend Desiree (see her message below after seeing your picture).  You must know by now that Grandpa and I forward on to many people the accomplishments of the members of our family.  Just ask your parents!

This newsletter was inspired by Leave it to Leonor. Leonor has written really interesting and fun pieces about revisiting her past journals and other personal archives! 

Antidote Moments

I’m shamelessly stealing a phrase from my friend Andrea. Andrea shared recently that despite the fear & strife of the bad news onslaught, her friend group has never laughed so much; they are still leaning into joy with one another and call these times of laughter “Antidote Moments”. So here are things that offered me joy or hope this week:

• Ezra Klein’s Don’t Believe Him (Spotify, Apple Music, and NYTimes)

• Nicole Capo Martinez on love 

• Monica Potts on a journalist’s perspective on healthy news intake