When I graduated from High School my grandmother, my mother’s mother, gave me pearls. In a beaded satin purse. I thought they were sweet and beautiful, but couldn’t imagine wearing them. I certainly had no idea that I’d take to wearing them in my 40’s.
I don’t imagine that she was expecting me to wear them with a threadbare t-shirt and cut-off Levi shorts but I’m sure she’s glad I’m wearing them just the same.
Sometimes you have something for years, decades even, and then suddenly you are just in love with it. You know why you’ve held onto it all those years.
I’ve had a pretty transitory life. Like a really boring, solitary gypsy. I’ve moved a lot since I was a small child. I’ve had friends and family come and go from my life. I never expect anyone to stick around. Shit always ends. Shit always changes. And shit often turns to shit and falls apart. But maybe it doesn’t have to be like that.
The idea of a stable, long-term partner is as appealing as it is foreign. I wonder if after years, decades even, you discover parts of your partner that you haven’t even seen or known and you fall more in love with them for it. If a string of pearls can transform from an inanimate object of sentimental value to a loved and worn part of my wardrobe I’d imagine a person could surprise me even more. People are far more complex than pearls, usually.
Maybe I have hidden, secreted away, saved and perviously unnoticed parts of myself, that once discovered will be cherished and used, not just for special occasions, but for regular life. Regular life needs to be celebrated. Wearing a vintage cocktail hat in the summer with running shorts and a t-shirt can make me so happy I almost don’t care that it’s hot as hell, that I have no idea what “I’m doing with my life” or “where I’m going”.
Inanimate objects are reliable. They can bring a lot of joy. But nothing compares to the exchange of human emotions. Both good and bad. A dress has never broken my heart. A vintage feathered cocktail hat can make me smile even if I’m not happy. But being a well dressed hermit can only last so long. I’ve been coming out of my shell, shaking off my invisibility cloak and being comfortable being seen, being known. Feeling good in my skin again. I like it.
The person who really helped nudge me out of my hermitage, who made me feel really good in my skin, has made his own retreat. I wish it wasn’t the case. I don’t like it. I want to share some more time with him. But I understand the urge to retreat. But I don’t get why he’s running from me. I’m not scary. I’m wearing pearls, for fucks sake!