Rings

As I wrote yet another story, I watched my fingers dance across the keys out of my peripheral vision. My fingers move differently when my nails are painted. They move with more purpose, every click accentuated on the keyboard. I glanced down for a moment, studying the ring made out of a Cuban coin resting on my forefinger. I was transported back to that trip; the voices of the students and the vibrant people we met. I thought about how rings used to define who I was in a way. I used to wear at least three on each hand - some silver, some gold, some stacked, some midi. I felt like their individual yet simultaneously collective uniqueness made me, too, seem unique - like I had more of a story to tell based on the distinct nature of each of my prized pieces of jewelry. I think I hoped people would want to know me more or think I reflected the beautiful characteristics of each of them. I don’t wear many rings anymore, maybe three total. I think it’s because it takes effort to wear them all; to figure out which ones I want to wear, as my collection has grown. Sometimes, simplicity makes me feel the most like myself. Whenever I see high school girls sporting rings on every finger, I’m comforted and reminded that they’re in a stage where they need to identify with something. They need to figure out how to present themselves, what style they like, and what most represents who they are, who they want to be, and who they’re becoming. I love the concept behind the rings, or at least the one I’ve assigned to them. They remind me of the detailed beauty within each of us if only we’d look a little closer.