The Trunks I Never Threw Away

We all have that one thing in life that we probably should’ve gotten rid of by now, but didn’t. Maybe it’s an old shirt with a hole under the arm or a coffee mug with a chipped rim that somehow still seems to taste better than the others. For me, it’s an old pair of swim trunks. I actually haven’t used them for swimming in years. These days, I just wear them around the house when I want to stretch out and be comfortable. They’re faded, definitely ragged, and honestly not fit to be worn in public. But every time I pull them on, something inside me smiles, just a little. And lately, I’ve started to ask myself why.

I remember buying them over ten years ago, back when I was living in Panama. I can even remember the day. I was wandering through Albrook Mall, a massive maze of shops and noise and color. If you’ve ever been there, you know what I mean. It’s not just a mall. Instead, it’s a small city filled with food courts, movie theaters, and more stores than anyone could possibly ever imagine. On that particular day, I wasn’t looking for anything special. I just needed something quick. I found this pair of trunks in a random store, grabbed them off the rack, and moved on. I never figured that they’d still be with me after all these years later.

However, when I wear them now, it’s like I’m slipping into a softer version of my past. It was a time when, despite all of the chaos in my life, I could still find small pockets of peace. They remind me of gentler moments. Of when I was writing my earliest reflections, still unsure whether anyone was even reading them. Of trying to heal in a place far away from everything that broke me. And of holding on, even when my world felt like it was coming apart.

Given all this, here’s the one thing I know: I could buy a new pair. I could simply toss these ones out and replace them with something fresher, and definitely less worn out. But I don’t. It’s not about the trunks themself per se. Rather, it’s about what they carry. In a strange sort of way, they’ve become a sort of emotional artifact—proof that I’ve actually survived this mess. That even through all the betrayals, the alienation, and yep, the long stretches of silence, I kept going.

After all, isn’t that what we do, as alienated parents? We tend to hold onto things other people simply wouldn't understand. Perhaps, they’re photos, letters, or birthdays etched deeply into our memory, or possibly a familiar routine we can’t seem to quite shake. We hold onto what we can because it feels like so much has been taken from us by others. Letting go of even one more thing sometimes feels like losing everything all over again.

But then again, maybe the question isn’t whether we should let go. Maybe it’s whether we’re really ready to do so. And maybe, it’s okay if we’re not.

What a lot of folks don’t ever realize is that we don’t always hold onto things because they’re useful. Sometimes, we hold on because they’re a part of us like they’re a thread from a time when we still felt whole. And until we can rebuild that wholeness, those small comforts we cling to that may seem insignificant to others might be the only things keeping us grounded.

So, I think I’ll just keep these old trunks. Not because I need them. But because they’ve walked beside me through more than most people will ever know.

And maybe that’s the real reason each of us holds on—not to the item itself, but to the version of ourselves we don’t want to lose.

David Shubert