More Quality of Life

Last night I went to a girls-night-out attended by several old friends. While sipping wine and munching on snacks, we perused shiny baubles and beads, designer jeans and girlie things.

At one point in the evening, several of us congregated near the jewelry table, discussing how gold was back in vogue. Somehow the conversation turned to wedding rings—and then specifically to my ring.

“I love my ring,” I commented. “And it’s history.” About a year after we’d been married, I found the check for my diamond stamped “Returned for Insufficient Funds” in a pile of papers. Somehow, this touched my heart—as I realized how much Pete had stretched his finances to buy my diamond. Somehow, it made me love him and the ring just a little bit more.

“But if Pete brought home a bigger diamond, under the condition that you had to trade that one in, what would you do?” a friend asked.

I hesitated, not pondering my answer, but surprised by the question itself.

“I’d keep the one I have,” I replied.

“You’d upgrade,” she said, smiling in a matter-of-fact, “diamonds-are-a-girls-best friend” kind of a way. I knew she was teasing, but something about her comment stung.

The interaction bounced around in my noggin through the remainder of the night and into my morning. What was it that pinched my heart? What didn’t sit quite right?

The answer, I realized, is this: I’m not a woman that places value on the size of my diamond. And somehow, my friend of fifteen years didn’t realize that.

While I like shiny things as well as the next gal, I know that a bigger diamond on my hand will never impact my—or anyone else’s—quality of life. However, the money it represents potentially could. (A side note: People would generally use what is called “disposable” income for this kind of purchase, but think about the term “disposable;” inherently it suggests a throw-away quality. None of us can afford to spend our money on things that don’t engender long-term value...)

Pete would never buy me an “upgrade” because if we had the money to spend, he knows I would be blessed by things that directly enhance our quality of life: I would love to paint our barn a deep, rusty red; I imagine looking out on it from my kitchen window on a snowy day, snuggled amidst the trees. I crave a small kitchen island and stools, so my girls can sit in the kitchen and chat with me while I prepare dinner. And I would love to start a non-profit, giving back to the community in a way that brings long-term value.

Somehow, my life does not read transparent. Somehow, this value isn’t clear to even some of my closest friends. And this is what stings.

Quality of life reads different for everyone, but for me, it’s not diamonds. It is apparent to me that I need to liver closer to my true values—so my friends will know, without asking, what makes my heart truly shine.