never stops teaching.
Journaling for awareness. Growing for life.
I had my engagement ring cleaned recently. There seemed to be some residual play dough and lotion stuck in between the prongs. The jeweler was sweet, complimenting the setting and asking about how my husband had proposed sixteen years ago. She casually noticed a little flaw in the diamond and told me that if I ever intended to replace it, they could fit a new diamond into my existing setting. I smiled politely and bit back the urge to explain why that wouldn’t be necessary. My husband bought my ring at age twenty-three with his savings, and I couldn’t imagine ever replacing it. The moment felt similar to the time I had walked into the dermatologist for some hydrating cream and walked out …