A Chapter from My Memoir

My ring. I love it. It's gold. And its gilded exterior is fading. But the love engraved in it forever remains. It's cheap but it's not gaudy. It isn't classy. It's simple. And when it's wrapped around my finger its imperfect charm reaches across my whole hand.

I wear my ring to make a statement. Though it's not always a statement of glamor. Sometimes I wear it, simply, for confidence. My intentions are mainly directed towards changing my own perception about myself. In this instance, I'm referring to how I see my fat fingers. By accentuating my fingers with my ring, attention is pulled away from their sausage-like appearance and instead aimed at what adorns them, until I learn to adore them myself. This totem helps me see my fingers as a work of art rather than the evidence of a high sodium diet.

A ring, however, isn't always just a pretty band around my finger. It can also be a band of people who I surround myself with. And trust me, I love that particular ring too. I don't know what I'd do without it, without them. They are my support system. My support system consists of all the people in my life who have my back. And I have theirs (otherwise the ring wouldn't close--no one likes one size fits all rings that have a beginning and an end). My ring sticks up for me, even when the fight is against myself. And even then, they challenge my every insecurity and face them with a patient, yet firm, force.

This ring is a bond. And a bond like this can never be broken, no matter how much it faces. It's a ring that accepts my every mood. When I cry, it provides solace. When I'm happy, it whoops and hollers with me. And in times when I'm in distress, no matter how insignificant my troubles may seem, they support me then too. If it's a big issue to me, it's a big issue to my ring.

My familial ring is indeed very different from the physical rings that I wear. However, they also share a likeness. The ring on my finger can be sized and resized as needed. Likewise, the people in my personal circle come and go from it. But nonetheless, they are always my rings. I have the ability to control who and what I surround myself with. And that's something I will never forget. I choose to put my rings on. I choose who I let into my life. I let them in with open arms, like I select which jewelry to wear. Rings are not chains. They shouldn't make me feel shackled to anything. They shouldn't hold me back, weigh me down, or give me verdigris. They're there to enhance me. And if I don't feel empowered by them, I take them off. I have that choice. I make that decision. And knowing that I can make thoughtful, intimate, selections on the regalia I wear buys me a priceless peace.

So each time I gaze downward at my tarnished aureate ring with love engraved in its hardwear, I think of my family: my mom, dad, siblings, aunts, uncles, cousins, friends, coworkers, people who have come and gone, and even random people who hold the door open for me. I remember the people I chose to be near who make me feel all emotions of life freely, and unashamed. I'm blessed to have them. I'm grateful for them. And I do not take having these invaluable riches in my life for granted. My ring.