my ring.
In the cab, on the way home, I ran my thumb up the side of my index finger and felt a twinge of panic when I realized that I’d left my ring on his bedside table.
I don’t generally care about jewelry, but I do care about that ring. I picked it up shortly after I broke off the engagement, so it’s become my anti-engagement ring, a vintage thing from the thirties. I feel naked without it.
The engagement ring itself felt like a noose. A hard, sparkly finger-noose capped with a giant rock that caught on everything, never fit properly, and attracted the wrong kind of attention. I’d roll the diamond to the inside of my palm whenever I’d enter a social situation, or I’d keep my left hand in my pocket, a challenge for a girl who favors her left hand for everything. Anytime I’d pull my hand out, the ring would refract light in a thousand different directions to alert others, mostly women and gay men, of my quasi-marital status.
The engagement ring also screamed conspicuous wealth, and that was someone else’s wealth strapped to my ring finger, tripping up my writing hand, marking me as another bought thing. I think back on that block of time and I don’t regret it — I appreciated the opportunity I had to reflect on things. But the moment I removed that ring, I felt relieved. I felt like myself again.
Since then, the anti-engagement ring that’s sitting on James’ bedside table has become important to me. I think I’ve invested it with talismanic qualities — I have the habit of rubbing my thumb across the back of my index finger when I’m thinking. I suppose it feels like a good luck charm. And it reminds me that I walked away. Why I let it go on for as long as I did, I don’t know.
Actually, that’s not true. I do know.
So you walked away because……..you were loosing your soul to someone that was not capable of giving you what you needed? What? Or is this something you would rather left unsaid?
I just didn’t want to marry him. But I questioned myself. I thought I was being resistant to marriage for the wrong reasons. In retrospect, they were the right reasons.
An anti-engagement ring? Nice!
I too broke off an engagement. The ring still sits in a box in a well hidden spot in my room.
Do you ever regret it?
Oh, not at all.
How about you?
I too am a a member of this club. It’s funny that when I was growing up I wanted all of that getting married stuff and when my ex, Henry, finally proposed, I was just… I couldn’t breathe, and not in the happy way. Not only that but the ring was grotesquely large and effing hideous.
I also have an anti-engagement ring, as well. It’s an amber ring I got while at Mt. Vernon. I left it somewhere too, and it feels so weird not to have it on. It’s like a reminder to me that I can be a strong person, and it feels like a part of me is missing when I’m not wearing it.
I wonder how many of your clients remove their wedding rings when they see you?
i eloped once… and i was very sad when (years later after the divorce) the wedding ring was stolen. it had become a symbol of my freedom and willingness to admit when things weren’t doing it for me you know?
and someone stole it along with a bunch of stuff i didn’t give two craps about. so yeah i get what you’re saying a little.
If you start calling it ‘My Pressshhhious,’ we’ll get worried. And the evil eye in the sky might be watching you already when you wear it…
“being resistant to marriage for the wrong reasons.”
yeah, this is the trap of self-awareness – we can suspect ourselves of wrong motives when, in fact, the relationship is still one that needs to be left. I used to think that if i had anything i was “resisting” in a relationship i had to stay to work it out…you know…burn off the karma or get the learning so i wouldn’t manifest the same thing again. then i realized, “ok maybe i need to work on X, but i don’t necessarily need to work on it with *this person*.” that freedom to leave, even while imperfect and seeing some of my own genuine sabotage of the relationship, helped me enormously.
Chuck — It’s safe to assume, by default, that my clients have a wedding ring somewhere. In some sense, I’m paid not to care. And since I’m paid not to care, I never really notice, one way or the other.
And I couldn’t agree more, LuckySeven. So true.