Every now and then, the walls start closing in on me.
And suddenly, everything in the house has to change.

Recognizable?

The couch turns 180 degrees to the right.
The kitchen table goes back to its old spot.
The shelving unit moves to the other side of the room.

To make that happen, the shelves have to be completely emptied.

While clearing them out, I find my old box of colored pencils. I’ve held it in my hands several times over the past few years, but I honestly can’t remember ever really looking inside.

I received the box for my birthday when I turned, I think, nine. I don’t remember from whom.

It was one of my greatest treasures.
I remember lining up the pencils endlessly — tips pointing up, sorted by color, brand name facing forward. My little brother wasn’t even allowed to look at them. The paper money I received for my birthday was hidden behind the pencils.

When I open the box now, I see that I never used a single pencil.
All exactly the same length.
The tips still perfectly sharp.

I smile. I remember being careful with this treasure. I had forgotten just how careful.

As I place all my books — color-coordinated, of course — back on the shelves (now on the other side of the room), I start wondering what else in my life I’ve left unused. Not necessarily out of frugality, but out of caution. Uncertainty. Or fear of what other people might think — positively or negatively.

Like:

Letting dreams drift away because they seemed too ambitious.
Not giving people a chance because my judgment was already formed.
Not resolving conflicts because my pride got in the way.
Not taking on assignments because I thought they were beyond me.
Keeping myself small because I feared criticism.

And also:

Not expressing appreciation because I simply couldn’t get the words out.
And definitely giving far too few “I love you’s.”

It’s not that I truly believe in regret. Still, it felt good to revisit a few of those moments. Because it’s never too late to learn.

As I continue arranging the shelves and decide to give the box of pencils to my creative niece for her birthday, a question comes up:

Did I use all that I was given?

I don’t know who originally asked that question, but after a quick search I found a version of it:

“When I stand before God at the end of my life, I would hope that I would not have a single bit of talent left, and could say, ‘I used everything you gave me.’”
— Erma Bombeck

I don’t know Erma, but she has a point.

I can’t yet give a wholehearted “yes.”
But that box of colored pencils inspired me to leave as few colors unused as possible from now on — or at least to try.