Shed the skin of those days

“It seemed as if I had already shed the skin of those days.”

I was reading Patti Smith’s “Year of the Monkey”, and I stopped and reread and then repeated this sentence to myself. I find the phrase comforting, this idea of shedding skin of the days past. All of a sudden, it makes sense. That’s how the world works. That’s how I work.

I had already shed the skin of those days. It’s that easy. Or not easy, but it happens. You don’t stay in that same skin that you were wearing ten years ago. Things get lost, people can, too — this is also part of the old skin of you that has to go. You shed that skin and grow a new one. You change, things change. No need to carry your old self, your old habits just because they were there at some point. You don’t even owe anything to the person you once were. You don’t need to carry the old skin around with you.

This is a very casual and at the same time celebratory sentence. With a hint of nostalgia, but without bitterness. It is just so. As I read it, I looked outside the window of S-Bahn, at the autumn trees changing color, and shedding their leaves. Symmetrical to the thought.

***

One more thought as I read the book.

When people read and highlight things on Kindle, it shows most popular highlights. All of them are the things that are “universal”. Things that go beyond the story, beyond the book. Things that can be taken and transported to some kind of “universal truth”, an interesting observation of its own.

What goes unnoticed most of the time are the things that are specific to the book, things beyond generalizations and pretense of a broader truth.

Commonly highlighted in “Year of the Monkey”:

The trouble with dreaming, I was thinking, is that one can be drawn into a mystery that is no mystery at all, occasioning absurd observations and discourse leading to not a single reality-based conclusion.

Not commonly highlighted:

I thought him arrogant, though in an appealing way, but his suggestion that I should front a rock band, though improbable, was also intriguing. At the time, I was seeing Sam Shepard and I told him what Sandy had said. Sam just looked at me intently and told me I could do anything. We were all young then, and that was the general idea. That we could do anything.

This latter quote provides, I think, a better insight into Patti Smith’s writing. It is the book’s better representation. Even though it actually has the words “the general idea”, it is more people-and-situation-specific. Very characteristic of Smith and Shepard and their “zeitgeist”.

Just a pair of jeans, and a lot of history

My history with jeans in general, and Levi’s in particular, is a winding road.

In the Soviet childhood, you don’t just own a pair of Levi’s — or any jeans, for that matter. There was a black market for jeans. In the late 80s–early 90s, my family was lucky, as we had distant relatives in the U.S., and we sometimes got parcels with food and some clothes from them. Then my family traveled too, before and after the USSR collapse, and I vividly remember at least two pairs of Levi’s that I had: straight/slim corduroy reds and pinks. Fancy, right?

In the immediate post-Soviet times, good jeans were hard to fine and extremely expensive (well, under the circumstances of poverty, that 90% of population was living with, everything was expensive and out of reach). The markets were where a lot of people bought clothes, and they were overflowing with fake Diesel, and Mustang, and what have you. I almost never had to go through the ordeal of looking for something there, in muddy rows of these clothing and shoes, and the “fitting rooms” behind the self-assembled curtains with dirty mirrors. Thanks to my mom who, during out time living abroad, was wise to (a) choose quality items even for a kid, and (b) buy things for me to wear as I grow. I’m still immensely thankful to her for this. I wasn’t dressed in the latest fashion of the town. But I had my Levi’s pants and jackets.

From one of my first jobs, I saved up (yes, saved up) to buy my “first” pair of Levi’s. I remember they were black, skinny, in the 900 series (I’m thinking 911s, but now I’m not completely sure). This might not be the smartest move — after all, remember this was still the time when the “real thing” was crazy expensive, but I wore them with joy and pride, and a lot of brand awareness.

When the “dark times” passed, as I had more freedom with my money (and more of “my own money”, making a living), and as the consumer market exploded, there were all sorts of other jeans. Levi’s stopped being the most-wished-for unicorn. There were Calvin Kleins, and Diesels, and then jeans were just… jeans. Just casual pants that you buy without even much thinking.

A couple of years ago, I went without jeans at all, for a year. Well, I had one pair of white jeans, and wore it only occasionally (in my view, it doesn’t count). It went easier than I imagined, after all, I wasn’t as hooked up on jeans as before, there were plenty other options, and my style has changed significantly, too. Today, as I have recovered from the half-life on predominantly wearing only jeans, I know I can survive on dresses if I want to. And that’s when I go back to the Levi’s store, without the reverence I’d have as a teenager. But that’s a prerogative of a lot of things during the teenage years, so I guess it’s long lost anyway. Without the reverence, but still, with joy of getting me something affordable and desired.

Affordable and desired” is the happiness formula — something that you can have, and that you can afford. Something that won’t clutter your life, but will become a good possession, helping, nice, not treasured as much as not to use, but used with care.