Hello! I'm Angie.

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Open the box

 The box 002 web

The box 002 web

I recently reconnected with a friend from college. She said I'd crossed her mind, and she found me on Facebook. She was my next door neighbor my freshman year.

Lately, we've been swapping emails—good ones. Long ones that break the barriers of texts and tweets and status updates. We spent a few paragraphs catching up on the past twenty years (I transferred schools after my freshman year) and the rest of our conversations have been about art. Her work in mixed media. My work with words.

We talked a lot about social media and how to use it in a way that enhances our work and how to stay connected with the internal source that drives us to create. Staying true to our instincts and learning to evolve.

And then I remembered something. Something from our freshman year of college. She and her roommate had made collages out of magazine clippings and construction paper for girls on our hall.

Suddenly I was desperate to find the one they'd made for me.

I turned to the old trunk in the family room. It has become the landing pad for random toy parts that need to go back upstairs. I'd organized the contents of that trunk when I was pregnant with Dillon and haven't looked inside since.

Last night, I opened the box. Old photos. Mementos from high school and college. The wedding. The TV career. The first house. The cross country move that changed everything. It brought me to my knees. I didn't cry or go all hysterical. But the wave of memories was so strong it felt physical, and I had to sit down.

 The box 003 web

The box 003 web

I was surprised by what I'd chosen to save. Because sitting in my living room all this time, is my unpublished memoir in a box. The story I still believe in, in the midst of cries that the internet is killing books.

I don't think the internet is killing anything. It still gives us the ability to tell our stories. Through photos, and status updates, and tweets. And blog posts. And email exchanges with old friends.

There's a story inside this trunk. And I'm going to devote the next few posts to sharing some of it with you. And yes, I found the collage.

The story continues here. 

(I recently launched a Facebook page. I'd love it if you'd "like" it. Click here.)

She's been everybody else's girl. Maybe one day she'll be her own.

A funny thing happened at the grocery store