Who's In Your Boxes

Written by Miranda Vidak

6/25/20133 min read

Visits home always start with a rush of nostalgia and excitement. You take in familiar streets, reconnect with old friends, and soak up the places and faces you've missed. But after those first few euphoric days, reality often hits hard, and you're left feeling strangely overwhelmed. This trip was no different for me, but what I didn't expect was a surprising discovery that led to a moment of profound reflection.

It's not just the passage of time since my last article—I’m genuinely thrilled to write this piece. Few things excite me more than stumbling upon something I didn’t realize I was looking for, something deeply resonant that manages to cut through the noise.

We've all been there: searching desperately for inspiration, only to find it hiding somewhere we'd long overlooked, buried beneath the years, the distractions, and everything we've since become. It’s a bit of a cliché, perhaps, but often, what we're really looking for is something we once knew instinctively, back when life was simpler and our purpose clearer.

When I packed up my life and moved back to Los Angeles, things were chaotic. Work and personal life had blurred into an endless cycle, and I felt a growing sense of disconnection. I'd always been the kind of person who knew what they wanted, so the feeling of drifting—of being out of sync with my purpose—was unsettling.

In those final days before leaving, I made the rounds to say my goodbyes, leaving a few belongings with my mom. While looking for a hiding place for some personal items, I stumbled across a stack of boxes labeled—Miranda. It was hardly a hidden treasure, my name being on them, but it did spark a feeling of excitement.

What I found inside was nothing short of a revelation.

My mom saved everything I made, wrote, created, sewed, knitted, drew, painted. She is an artist in her own right—she transforms old, forgotten furniture into stunning pieces—but never pursued her talents. She’d chosen a practical career in medicine, following her parents’ wishes. But she’d kept these items of mine, possibly as a way of keeping her own creative dreams alive, or perhaps to hold onto a piece of me while I was away, living the life she might have wanted.

Unpacking those boxes was like staring into a mirror—a glimpse into parts of myself I’d forgotten. There were years’ worth of creations, pieces I’d once dismissed as fleeting, boxed up for safekeeping. I realized how little regard I had for everything I’d made at the time, always wanting to skip town, grow up, and move to a different country, continent, planet. Looking into my boxes, it struck me: how silly we can be, how easily we forget, how easily we lose ourselves—and how essential it is, especially in moments when we falter, to remember where we started.

I couldn’t take all the things I’d found in those boxes with me overseas; after all, they’re treasures to my mother now—a reminder of what she might have been and a connection to me while I’m away. All I took with me is the collage you see in the picture in this post.

To realize I created moodboards before I even knew what moodboards are (or what the rest of the planet understood them to be), to see my enthusiasm for studying clothing for its societal significance at that time, and to reflect on my deep engagement with the details and the direction of my creative journey—it all pointed to a clear path of what I would eventually become.

It's priceless.

It was invaluable to recognize that my childhood collages and moodboards were the forerunners of my journey and passion for creating magazine pages, and later, online content that analyzes clothing, design, culture, and the society that consumes it, rather than merely making clothes.

We once knew so much about who we are and what we want before life clouded our vision with experiences, people, and time. Sometimes, when we feel lost, it's beneficial to revisit our beginnings, to take a peek at how we started, understand where we deviated, and find a way back to what we instinctively knew—exactly where we should be.

What's in your boxes?

Or better yet, who’s in your boxes?