Yesterday, I got tired of the transitional watch I'd bought (in trying to "redefine" myself) four months ago.
So I took it off.
It was gaudy, it was confused; it was too many colors and not enough statement.
My wrist, though, did feel a bit exposed.
Today I looked through the backpack I'd left behind for Christmas. I found my old purple watch in the top zipper. I put it back on; something about it felt unfinished, and right—as if it was meant to be back on my wrist.
And as I left the office today, my hands dug into the pocket of the raincoat I wore. My fingers felt something small, circular, and firm. I looked inside my inner pocket, and found my old ring—the one I'd taken off four months ago (in trying to "redefine" myself).
I guess (sometimes) growing means finding things you once thought lost; finding things you, at one time, we're sure needed to be thrown away, thrown overboard, left alone or abandoned.
I guess (sometimes) growing means finding parts of yourself that you once thought lost; too far gone; not worth the trip.
Existentially, I don't know.
But for now, let's just say this: It feels really nice to have this watch on my wrist, and this ring on my finger.
I guess not everything has to die; or get left behind; or lost.
Especially not you.