For months, I have thought about the convenience store/gas station that used to sit in the center of the island where Huron diverges into Jackson Road and Dexter Ave. I would drive past it most mornings on my way to work. The vines growing up the brick suggested it had been permanently closed for a while. To be quite honest, I couldn't even tell you the color of the brick. What stood out to me most was the lettering on the door. I can still picture it vividly. In white bold lettering, it read “Thank you, John.” Each day I noticed it, my curiosity about John’s story grew.

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I wondered how long he had run his business. Was it always his dream to own a store? And I thought about why he chose to close his doors. I wondered if he had retired or sold his business—or was he forced to close due to circumstances beyond his control.

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I noticed the lettering on the door for months until one day, the entire building was demolished. I am not completely sure why this came as such a surprise to me. After all, it appeared ready to collapse on its own. However, as soon as I saw the bricks crumpled in a pile on the ground with no sign of the thank you note to John, panic set in immediately.

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Seeing the demolished convenience store sent me into a spiral about my own life and the passage of time. It served as a clear reminder that, no matter how much effort and time you dedicate to building something, it can be quickly replaced, erasing any trace of your hard work. I’m sure when John started his business, he never imagined that one day, in the blink of an eye, his hard work would be turned into a pile of bricks and replaced with a generic gray gas station to make room for the next generation. That the world keeps spinning despite anything happening in each of our lives.

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Although this thought loomed over my head like a dark cloud in the coming weeks, it eventually provided comfort. Maybe this was a reminder that our work might go unnoticed and nothing matters in the end. However,  maybe it served as an example to not to take things so seriously because in the end, what really matters is whether you were happy with the way you lived your life.

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While businesses may turn to rubble and work might eventually be replaced as time passes, experiences and memories are everlasting. I began this collection as a way to hold onto important memories from this semester. Although it began as a way to gather physical artifacts to be able to look back on, it quickly turned into an activity that allowed me to feel more connected to the environment that surrounded me. It was a constant reminder of the importance of being present in the moment and that I am more than just a student who constantly needs to be consumed by work. This collection of memories also serves as an example that there is beauty and meaning in everything, even items that are seemingly trash.

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I still think about John often. About the type of person he was. Did he greet every customer with a smile? Perhaps he was one of those owners whom everyone looked forward to seeing when they went into the store. He must have been good to his workers for them to write him the thank you note on the door. Or was that his family who put the note there? Whatever his story, I wish for him to be well.

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Perhaps one day I too will open up a business, and like John, I might see it eventually give way to the passage of time. Yet, the essence of what we create lies not in its permanence, but in the impact it has while it exists and the memories it generates. Just as I wonder about John's life and legacy, maybe in the future, someone will wonder about mine, finding meaning in the remnants I leave behind.