Ring in the Old Me

Two years ago my daughter decluttered her room and put ribbons and trophies in a box to discard. I was shocked she would dispose of memories and accomplishments. Her response as she looked at my sappy eyes, “Mom, I can take a picture of them.” On the opposite side of the spectrum my second born has created a shrine in his room and never wants to trash anything.

I’d like to consider myself somewhere in the middle of my two oldest. Ideally, at this age when my entire household collects SO much in terms of paper and unessential things…I’d REALLY like to be more minimalist, unattached to possessions.

Is it crazy to be attached to material objects? Especially when we know we’re passing through this life and can’t take them with us when we die?

I was shocked this year at how hard I took losing an object that I didn’t realize held so much meaning.

In November I lost my college ring. I remember the day I lost it. I treated myself to a massage, put it in my wallet, and reminded myself, “I can’t forget it when I’m done or I’ll lose it.” Of course, that relaxed feeling post-rub down soon became hurried thoughts of to do’s, and I zipped out of the spa.

Two weeks later I looked for my ring, and it was gone. Immediately I felt an emotional hit, like a sucker punch. Memories flooded my heart. A collage of undergrad moments spun through my mind. And I reached for my tissues. It wasn’t just a gold signet ring missing; I felt like I lost four unbelievable years, a proud association with my college, friends, and professors, and, even though I didn’t want to admit, a huge chunk of my youth—gone.

I looked on the Balfour website and thought that even if I wanted to spend the money, I couldn’t really replace that ring. The one with the tiny scratches. The one I’ve worn off and on for 23 years.

It’s not like when I die this ring will mean anything to my kids. That’s when I started looking around my house full of stuff and thought: I promise to purge, dispose of dust collectors, and clear clutter. Only keep objects that bring joy. Every article and quotation about possessions make people who collect and covet sound hollow, like they’re missing the spiritual, higher value of relationships, experiences, and moments, especially amidst an American culture of consumerism and consumption. I am not like that, I thought. Things in my life aren’t most important to me.

Yet three months later when I found the ring in my car—an energy returned. Maybe this object, a possession with symbolic meaning, possessed some of that twenty-one year-old spirit. I also realized that even when those minimalist urgings surface, there is value in having things that inspire, remind, and tell our lives’ unique story. These valuables can be like an old friend—and there is a treasure in that.