
I probably have every piece of cheap jewelry I’ve ever bought, every objet de junk I’ve dragged into my house over the years (that plastic Buddha, the Day of the Dead skeletons, the squeaky tin bird), every impulse buy I quickly hated–but the things I treasure I always lose. The silver ring that matched the gold one above that I bought from a jeweler off Portobello Road in London, the expensive bracelet made of porcelain beads painted with Chinese characters that I wore for luck, the leather envelope purse from Il Bisonte that no other bag can replace and that I didn’t appreciate until it was gone. I have searched frantically through my house for the missing items and through the universe for people I’ve lost. I can’t wear the gold ring without its mate, and I can’t replace the man I loved with another one, but losing things and people is a lesson in letting go, one I need to learn before I leave this Sweet Old World. Why? Because some day I will have to let go of life, let go of sunsets, Champagne, foot massages, Chopin, Bach and Lucinda Williams, bookclub dinners, skinny dipping, dolphins feeding at dusk, Fedoras, ballet slippers, salt, twinkle lights, cruise control, dishwashers, sand in my shoes, 411, down jackets, lucky charms, the color red, my friends, my family, my biker jacket, pears and cheese, clean sheets, hot showers, gardenias, glue sticks, homemade pasta sauce, pomegranate seeds, morning glories and so much more. But facing that encourages to me to open myself to color and sensation and compassion and sadness and embraces before it’s too late. It makes me want to be honest with the people I love. It makes me feel urgent about having conversations that are real and revealing. It makes me realize, when I’m able, of the beauty that the world offers, like a woman opening herself to a lover with nothing withheld, nothing calculated, everything free and priceless.