Do you ever think about what you would grab in a fire?
What would matter most, what you'd think was valuable in a quick second?

I don't often, but when I looked around today, my eyes caught a old glass jar on my desk.
And I thought, "That."

This little, insignificant-appearing jar is crammed with random trinkets to the unknowing eye. But to me, it's like everywhere I've traveled and every version of myself that I uncovered on the road all held in these tiny symbols.

Mosi Lager, Carlsberg, Kuche Kuche and Pepsi bottle caps from a gas station pit-stop on some dusty road in southern Mozambique or from a camp site drink in Malawi or from the backseat of our lion finder wheels in Kruger.
A couple necklace pendants from Paris, a single coffee bean from Zambia.
An acorn from Stellenbosch, South Africa when I saw street performers and cried because I had missed it so much.
A curly shell from a shallow tide in New Zealand and a shiny one from scuba-diving in Bali.
Bills and coins of Kwacha and Rupiah, Colones and Shillings, Pence and Maloti's.

There's a refreshment ticket from Whistler when the Mens Hockey won Olympic Gold in 2010. If they won you got a free beer, but I wanted the memento instead.
There's the ankle bracelet I bought from a Rasta in a busy bus terminal in Tanzania during a stop-over or the bracelet I watched a village man in Indonesia weave for me, wishing me good luck.

It's funny. None of those tiny, mostly useless things would really mean a lick to anyone else, but to me, there's a whole world that I have lived resting from our journey in that jar.