On the Button

This isn’t a “reflections upon turning forty” post; that’ll be the subject of a longer, more thoughtful, less slapdash piece I wasn’t able to finish in time for my birthday itself, which was this past Sunday. As always, I had the best of intentions to have something polished and ready to go, but I was out of town for the week leading up to it and too busy being busy to sit down and hammer something milestone-worthy to publish when the clock struck midnight and I entered the next decade of my life. Since I don’t anticipate getting to it until I’ve caught up on everything I neglected while I was away in an oblivious holiday bubble, I thought I’d take a few minutes now to share what I found with my husband on what I’ll lovingly call a “salvaged disaster” of a birthday afternoon. (Side note: why do we pin so many expectations on a single date?) This perfect melding of different parts of me wasn’t what we were looking for—not exactly, anyway—but is nevertheless precisely what we sought.

I’m not a big jewelry person; never have been. I used to wear the same simple stud earrings on a daily basis, removing them only to clean them and occasionally swapping them for another similarly simple pair when the thought crossed my mind, so basically never. I had a small collection of more dangly affairs that sat in a box in the closet, retrieved only when an occasion was momentous or fancy enough to warrant my making a major effort to dress up (my own wedding and convocation, and that’s about it). The holes grew over during my lost years, and after an unsuccessful, slightly scarring attempt to force my trusty amethyst studs through the decidedly closed piercings, I decided that I really didn’t care. Bracelets, save the Medicalert variety, are also a no-go because I can’t stand their clanging against my desk as I type or against my sewing table as I try to concentrate.

In terms of my desire and willingness to don them, necklaces fall into the general category earrings once did. I feel kind of naked without one, but that “one” rarely changes. In fact, a simple pearl pendant that my father gave me when I received my undergraduate degree has hung around my neck for, well, ages. I’ve had to replace the chain it dangles from twice, but the pendant has been a constant, with me through thick and thin. I unclasp it only when necessary for a medical scan or some other procedure and absentmindedly play with it when I’m lost in thought or anxious or happy or excited. It’s seen a lot and been some places, that pearl, and I’m certainly not letting go of it any time soon.

I did, however, want to bid adieu to my thirties by giving this precious marker of one phase of my life a buddy—something celebrating who I am now and where I’m going rather than past accomplishments and, yeah, challenges.

My first idea, inspired by a friend’s gorgeous birthday present to herself, was a necklace incorporating an opal, my birthstone. I discussed this with my husband; he was all for it. On Sunday afternoon, then, with a budget, a vague vision, and the fall-back plan of identifying a jeweller to have make a custom piece, we visited a jewelry shop recommended by people whose opinion on such matters I trust.

To make a long(ish) story short(er) and, more importantly, less boring, we admired and considered various options for the better part of an hour. Everything was lovely, but nothing was perfect, so custom piece it would be. As we were about to leave, though, my husband called me over to a display cabinet to show me something.

“That’s beautiful,” I said. Followed by: “Wait, is that a button?”

It was: a repurposed mother-of-pearl button transformed into a delicate necklace.

Even before trying it on, I knew it’d be mine.

And indeed, it’s totally right, symbolic of so much. The pearl is a nod to the past, which I’m carrying with me as I move forward. The button is a nod to sewing, which has been a huge catalyst in my process of recovering my health and sense of self. Even the fact it’s upcycled is significant, as it reflects my current commitment to making creative use of old goods. I’m wearing it as I type, I’ll wear it while—I promise!—I finish that longer “reflections at forty” post languishing in my drafts folder, and I’ll wear it, most likely, through the coming decades. Whatever they hold, whatever I do, I’ll keep finding new purpose in old lessons. As was the mother-of-pearl button, I’ve been given fresh, beautiful life but remain fundamentally myself, and what a gift that is.