This question is most easily explained through an object.
One of my most precious ‘possessions’ is an ancient Roman loom weight I found while scouting for objects in a dry tilled field just outside of an archaeological site in Gravina’s countryside (Puglia, Italy)… While on a dig.
I say ‘possession’ because I feel that I don’t really own that loom weight. It’s so much older than me. It’s so difficult for me to actually fathom the age of this fired ceramic object: it’s over two thousand years old.
Naturally, it sits on a shelf together with a handful of other ceramic work by artists I respect and admire, yet reminds me that I too will pass. Objects are inherently meaningless outside of the emotional value we ascribe to them. It’s my own memento mori.
My interest in the (im)permanence of objects and ideas has fascinated me since childhood. By the time I was a young teen, I had already long been suffering from a bad case of Existential Angst.