“It’s only a ring”, I kept saying to my fiancé as we were discussing the budget for our wedding rings. As far as we were concerned, the much-needed renovation to our future home prioritized over some potentially expensive items of significance, when copper pipe would do just the job we joked.
As human beings, we put so much meaning into things. From possessions to thoughts, to even the way other people respond to us, when really, these ideas are formed from our own perspectives, belief systems and past experiences. We are conditioned from the very moment we are born. So why should it matter so much?And this was the very question I asked myself as we walked away from a particular jeweller's shop in town last weekend.
Earlier that week, we had agreed to go shopping for our rings. Having already decided that we would eventually put money aside and commission a friend to make them as an anniversary gift to each other, in the meantime, we would look for something within our current budget for our wedding ceremony.
After passing two very high-end looking jewellers and then one very tacky, we finally settled on a shop with an assistant who welcomed us in with a warm smile.
She very quickly sized us up and laid out a selection of rings to choose from.
Steve chose his ring straight away. The ring I really liked was out of our price range, so we went away to have a discussion.
By my own omission. I hadn’t appreciated how much emotional charge I had for the very act in wearing a wedding ring and it was only in the middle of the high street that I was enlightened by this fact and chose that very moment to unintentionally burst into tears.
I have never been one to cry easily. (Admittedly Peri-menopausal hormones seem to have put pay to that and more recently, the tears seem to flow more readily and at times, rather unnervingly quite out of the blue) But nonetheless, in that moment tears welled up to the point where Steve who was on a mission to find somewhere to eat, was stopped in his tracks quite perplexed by my emotional outburst and being delayed in his mission to fill his belly.
And so there it was, a heartfelt conversation ensued in the middle of the high street on what it meant to me to wear such a symbolic piece of jewellery that was to be presented to me by my husband, whilst at the same time, acknowledging that it is only a ritual and the main act being the exchanging of rings was a symbolism of our love and commitment to one another and it shouldn’t matter what price tag it comes with. So with all this in mind, I had to admit to both myself and to Steve, that actually some things in my view, were worth more value when I felt a price tag to match was attached.
Of course, it is all relative and what value I put on something may be completely different to somebody else’s. In my world, money would be obsolete. I would bring back bartering, live more frugally and appreciate the simple things in life. So, I realize that I have completely contradicted myself by expressing the desire for a more expensive ring when as we agreed earlier, a piece of copper pipe would suffice.
So given all the complex feelings I had around said ring, my already overwhelmed mind, then went on to procrastinate on the ethical sourcing of metals. Sensing a full-on meltdown was imminent, we decided to return to the jewellers and agree on my first (and pricier) option of ring.
In fairness though, the particular ring I liked, felt nicer to hold, it exuded sturdiness whilst at the same time, dainty to look at. The next options down felt flimsy. A marriage should not be flimsy let alone a ring.
On returning to the shop, and as if the universe was overhearing our honest and open discussion earlier and I’d like to think, appreciating the authenticity and awareness of what it is to be human with all its complexities and idiocies, it acted through the lovely assistant by giving us a discount which as it happened came to our initial budget.
What is the lesson for this experience I wonder? Maybe it's just accepting that none of us can be perfect despite how hard we try. That is not to say we shouldn’t stop trying, but maybe it is ok to allow ourselves to enjoy the more frivolous side of life. Maybe it is just me. I shouldn’t keep giving myself a hard time. Existing in this world is hard enough at times without the constant berating of oneself. We can but do our best, knowing that occasionally even our best isn’t always good enough and that is ok.
And if one is religiously inclined, quite frankly, it will be our God that sits at the judgement table when it is our time to die and nobody else's.
In the meantime, I love and accept myself anyway…
