Rabbit has been my best friend for as long as I can remember. I mean, excluding my family members, he was my very first friend. Now, I’m aware Rabbit may not be the most creative name for a stuffed bunny, but what can I say? My vocabulary wasn’t very broad when I was an infant. I wish I could tell a heartwarming story of how I obtained this stuffed animal, but I’d be lying if I said I even remember receiving it. I’ve been told it was a discarded gift from my older sister’s christening, one that I fell in love with as soon as my gaze fell upon it.

My once vibrant yellow bunny would lay on the fortress of pillows that adorned my made bed, with its stuffed paws held together in prayer by a few strands of thread. In pre-k and kindergarten I would come home, if it was a particularly taxing day of coloring, and vent about my day’s event with my cotton-filled companion. My 6 year old self wholeheartedly believed Rabbit was listening, but even as I grew slightly wiser and traded the plush toy therapist for a diary, I continued to use my childhood comrade as a source of comfort when pen and paper failed me.

Despite the years of adolescent drama Rabbit had been through with me, and despite the promises I made to myself to never become ‘too old’ or ‘too cool’ for a stuffed animal, somewhere along the line my little friend no longer seemed important to me. Instead of making sure my former sidekick was safe and well-informed, I focused my attention on school, boys, sports, and friends. The things that suddenly become of critical importance to a preteen. For years, the memories of Rabbit that I once held so dear had slipped my mind.  

It wasn’t until recently when I was rummaging through my wardrobe and caught a glimpse of  sand colored fluff that I remembered the momentous significance that this stuffed animal had in my early life. How could I have let something so meaningful be neglected for years on end? Yet there he sat, collecting dust on fur that was no longer vibrant yellow, and once folded hands now ripped apart from roughhousing that had occurred before he found his semi-permanent spot in that back corner of my closet. I briefly had the thought to ignore it. I mean, I’m a senior in highschool, it would be silly to care about a toy I had when I was little.

Despite my thoughts, I found myself picking it up anyway.

The toy holds amazing sentimental value, continuing to disregard something that important would simply be ridiculous. My whole theory of ‘moving on’, in this incident and many others, flew out the window. Moving on can potentially provide fresh starts and it can seem like an easy solution, but holding onto things that add positivity and value to your life, as Rabbit brought to mine, can be so much more beneficial than a clean slate. Whether it’s a relationship, a job, a new chapter in life, or simply a stuffed bunny, there is no need to forget about your past in order to continue onto the future.

Now my stuffed friend has a new spot, on a shelf neighboring trophies and gimmicks  from other parts of my life, not entirely moving on, but continuing forward nevertheless.