bigpicture7
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I've been meaning to post this for a while and finally got a chance. Though I've passed by it a hundred times, I've more recently found myself powerfully struck by 'trophy row' under the Longfellow Bridge. Some consider it street art (Globe article), and its originator is anonymous. However, the display has clearly grown with the contributions of many others over the years. Like art that is timeless, it acquires meaning and interpretation as the years go by. I figured I would share the meaning it has for me...
Boston is a coming-of-age town for many individuals. A lot of people go to school here, navigate their 20s here, meet their future spouse here, figure out their career trajectories from here - and then move on (sure, a few stay). Boston is a transient place for many people; moreover, a place of reckoning for a lot of us.
The trophies here represent the fleeting optimism of childhood. Brightly colored, triumphant, kitschy. I know I cherished mine, particularly at age 12 through the end of high school. They meant so much that I created space in my small bedroom to prominently display them. The shelves that held childhood toys or books were cleared to make room for my spoils of victory. And they were hard-fought-for -- I still remember the tournaments and their special moments. So, when we move out of our childhood bedrooms, we find some way to keep the trophies. They go in storage boxes. They're cumbersome. Each time we have to revisit how much stuff we have stored, we pause, but ultimately we keep those special trophies. But, in parallel, as we age, we become more worldly and more aware: we start to realize that the record-setting time from H.S. would barely make qualifying at college, or that chess prize wouldn't really stack up to much on a more competitive stage. The trophies start to transition from something we're proud of, to more of a dusty nostalgia -- then to something almost humbling reminding us of the smallness of where we came from. As we face adulthood, our optimism wanes. We transition from "I can do anything" to "ok, I can't do most things, but hopefully I can find some things that I can do decently enough and enjoy." As we age, the trophies slowly shift from being symbols of our utmost pride to being symbols of our limits. Eventually, during that next inevitable down-scaling of everything we've got stored in boxes, we let them go.
I thank the anonymous originator for creating this haven. It is no surprise to me that people keep adding their trophies to this display; I sense that leaving one's trophies here is a more gracious ending than other alternatives. While we can't relive our childhoods and while the limits to our performance may indeed be real, growing up is nonetheless something to celebrate.
Boston is a coming-of-age town for many individuals. A lot of people go to school here, navigate their 20s here, meet their future spouse here, figure out their career trajectories from here - and then move on (sure, a few stay). Boston is a transient place for many people; moreover, a place of reckoning for a lot of us.
The trophies here represent the fleeting optimism of childhood. Brightly colored, triumphant, kitschy. I know I cherished mine, particularly at age 12 through the end of high school. They meant so much that I created space in my small bedroom to prominently display them. The shelves that held childhood toys or books were cleared to make room for my spoils of victory. And they were hard-fought-for -- I still remember the tournaments and their special moments. So, when we move out of our childhood bedrooms, we find some way to keep the trophies. They go in storage boxes. They're cumbersome. Each time we have to revisit how much stuff we have stored, we pause, but ultimately we keep those special trophies. But, in parallel, as we age, we become more worldly and more aware: we start to realize that the record-setting time from H.S. would barely make qualifying at college, or that chess prize wouldn't really stack up to much on a more competitive stage. The trophies start to transition from something we're proud of, to more of a dusty nostalgia -- then to something almost humbling reminding us of the smallness of where we came from. As we face adulthood, our optimism wanes. We transition from "I can do anything" to "ok, I can't do most things, but hopefully I can find some things that I can do decently enough and enjoy." As we age, the trophies slowly shift from being symbols of our utmost pride to being symbols of our limits. Eventually, during that next inevitable down-scaling of everything we've got stored in boxes, we let them go.
I thank the anonymous originator for creating this haven. It is no surprise to me that people keep adding their trophies to this display; I sense that leaving one's trophies here is a more gracious ending than other alternatives. While we can't relive our childhoods and while the limits to our performance may indeed be real, growing up is nonetheless something to celebrate.
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