The Return of Tall, Hatted Sam

and other ghosts from cell phones past.

I once asked an ex a very dumb question.

“If you could change just one thing about me, what would you choose?”

It was a trick, the kind of thing you hear in reverse on a job interview, when the hiring manager asks about one of your weaknesses. The only correct response is to spin it into a positive — a la “I’m extremely detail oriented, so if I could change anything, it would probably be to learn to relax a little more.”

I expected him to say something innocuous like, “I’d have you wake up a bit earlier,” since he was a fervent morning person who rose before the sun. Or “I’d give you more of an interest in rock climbing,” his favorite pastime for which I’d shown little enthusiasm.

He paused, gazing into the ether. He was giving this question a lot of thought. At last, he spoke.

“I’d make you taller,” he said. “And also give you bigger boobs.”

We broke up soon after.

I hadn’t thought about that person in years, until last week, when I saw him drift by on my phone’s contact list.

My cellular device up and died, so I begrudgingly replaced it. “Do you want to upload your contacts from the cloud or start fresh?” asked the tech support guy. This felt akin to when the MetroCard machine asks if you want to add “value” or “time” when refilling your transit card — a much deeper question than I was bargaining for. I wanted to start fresh. Who wouldn’t? But I am also notoriously lazy, especially when it comes to anything resembling digital organization. So, I asked to copy it all over, vowing to clean it up on my own.

I’ll miss you, little dude.

It didn’t take long for me to regret my choice. On the subway ride home, as I scrolled through the list of names, I uncovered more relics than an ancient tomb. There were long-ago bosses and colleagues and dates I could almost place. Some were dim recollections, like a woman I worked a temp job with some fifteen summers ago. Others were straight-up ghosts.

Who on earth was “Blonde Rob” or “Cyndi’s friend Mindy” or “Sam - tall, hatted”? The memory of the person labeled “Man-Shaped Void Without a Soul” was seared in my mind, but I couldn’t begin to tell you why I still had his number.

By the end of the list, I was left wondering two things. The first was, does everyone carry around an abundance of contact information they plan to never use again?

The second was, who was I? Who was the person who’d recorded these numbers, who’d made these connections, who’d lived these lives? Where had she gone?

I wouldn’t know tall, hatted Sam if I encountered him in the wild. I doubt I could pick him out of a line-up. But I’d have just as much trouble identifying my former self — a woman who wore pointed toe, spike heeled boots and sipped colorful drinks through tiny little straws that were technically stirrers.

In another era, with one of my dearest friends, stirrer-straws in hand. (The rock climbing ex lurked just outside the frame.)

Is there a word for when nostalgia becomes disorienting? A term to describe that feeling when digital photo albums or social media platforms present you with a “remember when” montage, set to some strange instrumental, and it feels like you’ve just been emotionally assaulted?

There is a tendency to romanticize moments other than this one, especially when the present feels challenging. If only I could revisit that moment in time. If only I could jump to that point in the future. And I’d posit there is nothing wrong with holding onto what is good, or letting hope help carry us through. But like a lot of people, I sometimes revert to painting my youth in shimmering hues — a dizzy, effortless spin through a time when everything was easier, happier, brighter.

The truth is, it wasn’t really like this.

It was a time of big feelings, overarching questions, financial struggles, terrible dates, messy relationships, aimless wandering, and exploitation masquerading as employment. It was also pretty great.

In other words, it was life.

In the end, the biggest surprise was not how many contacts were floating around, but the mix of emotions they prompted. In all cases, there was a visceral reaction. The faces may be forgotten, but the feelings were not.

Culling the list was a cathartic exercise, reclaiming a bit of emotional space with every swipe into the virtual trash bin.

I wouldn’t quite call it a fresh start. But it is a start.

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If you’d like to hear me read this out loud while trying hard not to breathe into a microphone, the audio version of this post is available via podcast, for paid subscribers.

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Card of the Week

Here is this week’s card for the collective, as well as some thoughts to carry into the days ahead. As most modern readers will tell you, the tarot is not about fortunetelling, nor is it about neat, definitive answers. The cards are simply one path to reflection, a way of better knowing ourselves and others through universal themes. If this reading resonates with you, great! And if not, no worries. Take whatever may be helpful and leave the rest.

Featuring The Fountain Tarot by Jonathan Saiz, Andi Todaro, Jason Gruhl

When I was growing up, I had a neighbor whom we’ll call Ermengarde. She lived with her husband in a tiny cottage, the only home they’d ever shared. They raised four rambunctious children there, as well as hosted many neighborhood gatherings despite the fact that there was hardly anywhere to sit. Theirs was a modest life, filled with few material possessions, but lots of love.

And then, Ermengarde passed away.

Her family was surprised to discover a secret bank account where she had managed to scrimp and save a healthy nest egg. She’d told no one about it, not even her spouse. All along, she’d gone without, because she had a plan: to one day retire to a house in the country. That day never came.

When did she first devise this plan? Why didn’t she tell anyone? We can only wonder.

The character on the Four of Pentacles (sometimes called the Four of Coins) keeps a very tight grip. They may pinch pennies. They might schedule every waking moment. They may track every step, every sip, every snore.

That’s not to hate on being mindful about resources; watching one’s budget and tracking one’s time is a worthwhile exercise. But The Four of Pentacles isn’t motivated by knowledge. The energy behind this card is all about operating from a place of scarcity, even when reality says otherwise. It’s not a matter of frugality — it makes no difference if they’re a billionaire, the Four of Pentacles moves throughout the world as if they don’t have anything to spare.

While hang-ups about money and material resources are plenty, this card suggests we may also be focused on the more esoteric concepts of value or worth. Who defines our worth? What gives our lives value? How can we feel at peace with this, especially amidst all the noise society is constantly throwing our way?

When you boil it down, this isn’t really a card about resources, nor is it a card about control. Like so many things, it’s all about fear.

When the Four of Pentacles appears, it serves as a reminder that we may be holding on a bit too tightly. We may be operating under the false sense that by trying to control every last aspect of something, it will save us from some eventual pain.

Unfortunately, that isn’t how living works.

Exactly zero times has someone said, “Wow! I’m so glad I micromanaged every detail of X, Y, and Z, because it prevented me from being devastated when it didn’t work out!”

Or, “You know what? Obsessively watching the stock market/clicking refresh on the score/checking my horoscope seventeen times in one day/etc. really kept me from feeling disappointed when things didn’t go in my favor.”

Nope. Hurt happens anyway.

The Four of Pentacles would like us to know that it’s okay to get excited about possibilities, even if they may not come true. You can’t ward off future pain or failure by clinging to today.

It’s also okay to enjoy the good in your life right now. In fact, this card tells us, it’s more than okay. It’s wise.

The Four of Pentacles knows that a better way of living waits just on the other side of control. But in order to get there, you’ll need to embrace some other tendencies.

The first is risk. The risk that is always inherent with trying something new, being vulnerable, sharing your work, daring to make things happen.

The second is flexibility. The willingness to change plans, pursue a new direction, or deviate slightly off course. Yes, it may be scary. Yes, you might feel slightly unmoored. But how else will you ever reach a place you’ve never been?

The third and final piece is generosity. There are just as many ways to be generous as there are to be stingy. With kindness. With compliments. With time. By letting go and giving freely, you not only make someone else’s day brighter, you create more space in your own.

In the days ahead, The Four of Pentacles asks us to notice when and where we have the tendency to tense up. Where do we feel the need to cling, to squeeze, to exert control? When does our breath catch in our throats and prevent us from moving forward? When might we be restricting ourselves or limiting our own enjoyment?

Take a deep breath. Loosen your grip. Only then will you create the space to embrace something new, hug a loved one, open a door. Good things are waiting on the other side. But first, you must let go just enough to take that first step toward it.