Updated: Feb 13, 2021
I'm a type-A person. I relish right-angles, tidy desktops and empty inboxes. I like my car clean and shiny. I crave perfectly wrapped cables. Organization and efficiency soothe my soul.
Care of this obsession, I have collected 3,916 address book contacts throughout my music and IT careers. Whether long-forgotten (or even deceased), I can't bring myself to delete a single one.
Why? Each contact is a little time machine - a flint sparking a firestorm of memories. Randomly selecting any of the 3,916 reminisces an encounter. For me, every contact is a gift. It's evidence that I have touched people, and people have touched me. It's proof of life.
Regardless where a person landed on the niceness-continuum, our interaction created a mental imprint. Each is a blessing, reinforcing the beauty of human diversity, even when I think I've seen it all.
To each of my 3,916, thanks for the memories and being part of my hoard.