I frantically searched for my wedding ring. I looked everywhere. Was it in my pocket? On the counter by the kitchen sink? Did I put it on my nightstand before going to bed? It was in none of the logical places, and eventually, I gave up the search. My wedding ring was lost and I needed to move on.
How important was this ring to me? Truth be told, my ring wasn’t valuable in a monetary sense. It was appraised for about $150. My husband had found it in a taxi cab a few months before he met me. Finding a ring in a taxi presents a moral conundrum: do I give it to the cab driver? He won’t be able to track the owner. Do I keep it? If I do, will I feel guilty that it is stolen property? Do I offer it to my fiance? Will she feel like I am giving her sloppy seconds, or will she appreciate the ring?
When my fiance told me about the ring he had found, I was curious to see it and try it on. I loved the simple setting of the gold band with a small round diamond in a square setting, flanked by two fake tapered baguettes. It was pretty close to what I would have chosen, simple and elegant. And the fit-perfect! I felt that the ring was meant to find me.
Feeling guilty about the no-cost engagement ring, my fiance purchased beautiful antique diamond earrings that he presented to me on our wedding day. Those earrings represented his love for me. I felt beautiful with those diamonds sparkling on my ears as I walked down the aisle to the wedding canopy, ready to accept the vows of my marriage.
And now, ten years later, the ring was nowhere to be found. I soon realized that in the big picture, the ring was not very important. After all, it was someone else’s lost ring. Perhaps it was not meant to be a permanent part of my life. Maybe it needed to find the next owner. Meanwhile, my left ring finger felt naked, so, I bought a cheap cubic zirconia replacement, silver with marcasites, an antique that caught my artistic eye.
A few months later, on a warm summer day, I put on a pair of khaki pants, reached in the pocket, and felt something hard tucked in the far corner. The wedding ring had resurfaced. And I had mixed feelings. Relief that I finally found it, my long lost friend, the ring I was married in. And regret. Like an ex-boyfriend, I had already moved on. My heart was attached to my new ring. I wasn’t sure if I could go back to the old one and discard the newer ring. I felt a sense of torn allegiance.
Finding that old ring brought a very important point to light. Holding on to material things is futile. They may be sentimental, but they are replaceable. Maybe not with the same exact item, but that is not what we need. When I lost that ring, I realized that it was never really mine. And life went on. I have lost many things, and after the initial sadness, life does go on.
When we lose old things, we make room for new things. We realize the significance of what we lost, or lack thereof. I recently met a family who lost everything in a house fire. Two years later, they are resilient, their sense of dignity and humor intact. They have moved to a new condo in a much better location. In many ways, that fire propelled them to a better place. I am not in any way minimizing the devastating financial toll or the tragic loss of the irreplaceable family heirlooms and photos. The wife, an artist, lost all of her artwork, and as an artist, I can only imagine the anguish she felt.
The point is, most of what we lose is only stuff. We hold onto too much stuff. We collect things to make us happier. To fulfill us, we surround ourselves with beautiful, prestigious, impressive things. And all of it doesn’t really make us who we are. What really matters is building your relationships, filling your emotional bank with currency. Happiness matters, connection is crucial, “love is all you need”.
That lost engagement ring now sits in my jewelry box, unworn. Two years post divorce, the ring is a sentimental reminder of times past. As I pulled out and inspected my jewelry yesterday, each piece triggered a memory. The puzzle ring I bought in Israel when I was 18: I wish I still remembered how to assemble it. The gorgeous periwinkle blue necklace and matching pin, one-of-a-kind antiques that I purchased from a friend. The antique emerald green necklace that I found in a box of ‘junk’ when my eccentric aunt died of cancer. The high school ring, a reminder of the school I disliked so much, yet I purchased the ring to remember.
In the end, our things may trigger memories, they may be sentimental, but they are not crucial to who we are. We can get along just fine without them. Let’s focus more on our personal connections to those we love. Let’s put more energy into refining ourselves, cleaning up the cobwebs that are clouding our vision, removing the obstacles that are blocking our hearts to fully be present and true. For in the end, that is what really matters most.
