By: Jane Tabet-Kirkpatrick
The seemingly uneventful detail of a weekly soccer match ends up remembered forever.
I’ve never been much of a “details” person. The tedious effort to make perfect things was never worth doing while minimum-effort hacks existed. This past year ushered in a much-needed paradigm shift. There have been various events that have shepherded my new penchant for the particulars. I’ve watched their effect on fellow co-worker’s presentations and the credibility they extend to someone’s research. They were extremely important to me this year as I ciphered through the subtle sounds of a new language, each one opening up a flood gate to a different meaning.
Perhaps nowhere more did I notice the impact of details until I recently attended a send-off dinner for one of my friends at a Michelin Star restaurant. I had no expectations for the dinner, but among the sparkly wine glasses, the shining, polished shoes, and literal cotton candy trees, I found the full vision of perfect execution realized. Throughout the dinner, there were surprises at every turn, and every waiter brought out the dishes in seamlessly executed synchrony. There were pastries presented in wrapped gift boxes that were filled with a concoction that the waiter described in depth (that I have now long forgotten). As I alluded to before, there was even cotton candy that sat atop a tree, desserts piled on each of its four branches.
My new appreciation for details has been coupled with the fact that I am leaving Tenerife after my ten month tenure. The last couple of days I have been walking around more, sneaking into all the shops that I haven’t been in before.
One last peak throughout La Laguna.
Even though I had walked these same paths over a hundred times, I found a new beauty in them, brought on by the pressure of impermanence. It’s hard to not think of everything in terms of “lasts” when every action becomes countable. Thoughts like: I’ll only walk down this street two more times, I’ll only get to see this dog park seven more times, or I’ll only go to this restaurant one more time.
So I’m not sure whether it’s a last ditch effort for my brain to take it all in, but I have become hyper-aware of the small details going on in my everyday life. This was well illustrated when I came back to my apartment from a two-week backpacking trip across Europe. I slung my bag to the ground, exhausted from the weight of it and the previous night's shenanigans. I moved through my fanny pack following the faint sound of jangling keys. I grabbed them and with a memorized ease I distinguished my street door key from my apartment door key. As I turned the key I waited for the subtle, but all too familiar, click of the lock—an action performed in vain. The click of the lock never came, and I had to adjust on the fly to the new smoothness of the door that had never before existed. My roommate later informed me that in my absence the building manager had replaced the locks. Such a small fact like this one may seem irrelevant, but it represents the way we don’t realize how all the mundane details of our lives are key to our feeling comfortable or belonging within that life—and when they change, we are forced to reckon with that sensitivity.
Within this spirit and of saying goodbye to my island, I wanted to compile a list of specific notions that symbolize when a place has become a home:
Noticing when the locks change on the doors.
Having a massive pile of small 1, 2, and 5 cent coins.
A solid mental map of your local grocery store.
The UNESCO volunteers stop asking you to sign up for their newsletter.
Easily distinguishing between your two different apartment keys.
Feeling comfortable navigating public transportation when your phone dies.
Noticing when the apartment elevator is taking too long.
Witnessing the replacement of the local playground equipment.
Going to a bar to play foosball and receiving a greeting from everyone who is playing.
Having your favorite restaurants and bars memorize your order.
Navigating the television remote without looking.
Knowing where to perfectly position the shower faucet for the best water temperature and pressure.
The details that unknowingly surpass the conscious seem ever so clear in their importance to me now. The tiny, ridiculous, and superfluous end up being the elements you don’t know that you’ll miss—but somehow their absence is felt almost the strongest. I continue to think about all the details I have missed—all the moments I forgot to remember. I want to continue the practice of keeping the list of small details. I have found that within these small cherished reminders about the odds and ends of the world around me, the details are what feel like home.
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