I collect Buddhas. Buddha statues mainly. But I have a rule. I never buy them for myself. They must be given to me. Because it’s not just about the statues. It is about those that gave them to me and when and why. Each one tells a story.

I set up this MacGuffin of only collecting them as gifts, in part, to collect not the Buddhas but these stories. I want each one to be special and be connected to a place, time, and person. In this way the statue becomes a prompt to a deeper memory. Hopefully, one filled with sentiment and meaning.

Yet, is this not true of all things we acquire? Even the seemingly mundane? I can tell you where and when and why I bought the jeans I’m wearing. My sweater and my boots too. The iPad I’m typing this on has a story attached to it. As does the app I’m using to write it.

The fact is every interaction has a story. Some more memorable than others. Some we create with purpose. Others are the detritus of a life lived. Yet all are essential in weaving the fabric we call “us”.