Sometimes, we keep objects not because they guide our steps,
but because they remind us where our heart once wanted to go.
There is a small object I took out of a drawer after many years.
A round brass case,
a worn metal loop at the top,
and at its center—faded faces of a band.
The Beatle Finder.
And just beneath it, a small engraving:
“Yellow Submarine.”
More than thirty years ago,
I found this compass somewhere—
perhaps at a flea market,
or a small souvenir shop during a trip.
The memory is blurred,
but the feeling of holding it for the first time remains.
At the time,
I simply loved the music.
The Beatles—
their lightness, their sincerity,
their way of not taking the world too seriously,
yet somehow being deeply genuine.
“Yellow Submarine” was never just a cheerful song.
To me, it was
a quiet metaphor for escape,
a way to imagine another world
beneath the surface of everyday life.
This compass sat at the center of that feeling.
When I open it,
inside the lid,
the lyrics are engraved:
“In the town where I was born
Lived a man who sailed to sea…”
I remember the first time I read those words.
It felt like a quiet realization:
Perhaps everyone carries a small submarine within.
A hidden space
that no one else can see,
where we can travel at our own pace.
A private world made of
music, imagination, and memory.
This compass does point north.
But I have never used it
to find a physical direction.
Instead,
I have used it to find something else.
There were moments in life
when I felt lost—
unsure of what to do,
or where to go.
On those days,
I would quietly open this compass
and simply watch the needle.
And somehow,
I didn’t feel the need to rush toward a destination.
Instead, I felt this:
There are places you don’t have to go.
There are worlds you can simply stay within.
Over time,
the songs moved further down old playlists.
The idea of sailing away in a yellow submarine
became less frequent.
But this small compass
still rests on the corner of my desk.
Not as a tool for navigation,
but as a quiet reminder:
That I am still capable of imagining,
still capable of dreaming.
Sometimes,
I open it again and whisper to myself:
“And we lived beneath the waves…
In our yellow submarine.”
Reader Question
Is there something you’ve kept—not for its use,
but for the meaning it holds in your life?
Related Reading
The idea of finding direction beyond physical navigation is reflected in The Rhythm of Wood, The Tempo of My Mind, where a simple metronome becomes a quiet guide to balance and inner timing.
A similar reflection on meaning within ordinary objects can be found in A Pebble by the Sea – Seeing the Moon Within a Small Stone, where a small stone reveals how time and experience shape who we are.