This morning, I came across a question that made me pause: What’s the oldest thing you’re wearing today? At first, I scanned through the obvious things—maybe my shoes? A favorite pair of jeans? But then, I didn’t have to think very hard. The answer was clear: my necklace and my wedding ring.
Both were given to me by my husband, though at different moments in our life together. The necklace came first—18 years ago. It’s nothing flashy. Just simple and familiar. I’ve had it for so long, it’s become a quiet part of my identity. The wedding ring came three years later, 15 years ago, on a day I remember vividly. And ever since, it’s never left my finger. Not even for a day.
I’ve never taken the ring off. There’s no deep ritual or superstition behind that decision—it just feels right. It belongs on my hand, like it’s meant to be there. I sleep with it, shower with it, live every moment with it. It’s become more than jewelry. It’s a part of me now, and I barely notice it physically—but I notice its absence in thought, and that’s something.
The necklace has its own story. While the ring stays on always, I’ve tried taking the necklace off a few times. Nothing dramatic, just the occasional change. I’d buy a new necklace and wear it instead for a few days. But here’s the strange part: each time I did that, I got sick. Not major illness, but still—headaches, fatigue, sniffles I couldn’t explain. At first, I didn’t connect the dots. But it happened again, and again. Take off the necklace—feel unwell. Put it back on—get better.
I’m not claiming the necklace has magical healing properties. Maybe it’s coincidence. Maybe it’s psychosomatic. I honestly don’t know. But it’s happened enough times that I’ve started paying attention. I’m still observing, still trying to figure out whether it’s in my mind or something more subtle. Either way, I’ve stopped fighting it. The necklace stays.
It’s funny how these small things become part of our life stories. Not because they’re the most beautiful or expensive things we own, but because of what they’ve seen. This necklace and this ring have been with me through so much. The necklace has rested on my skin through laughter and tears, through moments of doubt and certainty, through routines and milestones. It’s been there on days I felt strong and on days I didn’t. Quietly present. Unmoving. Solid.
And the wedding ring—well, it speaks its own language. It says commitment and history and shared memories. It’s a symbol, yes, but it’s also a reminder. Of the promises we made and the years we’ve grown through. Fifteen years is long enough to know that love isn’t always easy. It shifts and stretches and deepens. But the ring is steady. It’s a little worn now, but so am I. That doesn’t make it any less beautiful. In fact, I think it makes it more so.
What I love about both the necklace and the ring is how they’ve quietly held space for me to change. I’m not the same person I was 18 or 15 years ago. But these items didn’t ask me to stay the same. They simply stayed with me. Their value lies not in how they look, but in what they represent: love, memory, stability.
Most other things in my life have come and gone. Clothes fade. Trends change. But some things stay because they mean something deeper. And sometimes, you only realize how deep until someone asks you a simple question: What’s the oldest thing you’re wearing today?
I think that’s what got to me. It reminded me to see the things I’ve stopped noticing. We wear certain pieces so often they become invisible. We forget the stories they carry. We forget how we felt when we first got them. And yet, they’re still here. Still close. Still quietly holding space for us.
Now I’m wondering—what about you? What’s the oldest thing you’re wearing today? And why are you still wearing it?
Is it a scarf from someone you miss? A watch passed down through family? A pair of earrings that survived a dozen moves? Or maybe something simple, like a bracelet from a moment you didn’t realize was going to matter so much?
Whatever it is, I’d love to know. Because sometimes, the oldest things we wear are the ones that know us best.
