Good morning, unicorn baby. I’ve missed you.
Right now I’m sitting on my balcony in Crete. A few days into our trip, drunk on wine, we decided to extend our trip for a week and work in Greece. I know this sounds so fucking bougie, but I’m regretting the choice now.
I’m strangely homesick for London already and though being near the sea is soothing, it’s kind of fucked me over on this trip. My husband planned a lovely day trip for us to a lagoon where the sea was crystal clear. He rented a car and braved the roads of Crete (people drive like maniacs here).
When we got there, we sun-blocked up and decided to go for a swim. There were some rocks at the edge of the water, but we figured they were steady enough to climb over. The water was pretty calm, after all. I took two steps into the water before a wave knocked me over. I flew over a rock, bruising my shoulder and skinning my knee.
But, much worse than that, there was a moment when I was pulled under the water when I felt my wedding and engagement rings get pulled off my hand. My husband dutifully looked for an hour trying to find them. I knew in my heart they were gone. All I could do was sit on a sun-chair and cry.
I’ve had legitimate nightmares about this kind of thing happening. I kept bashing myself with the knowledge that I should have known better to wear my rings at the beach. I should have hidden them with my passport in the Airbnb. The truth is, I absolutely hated (hate, really) not having them on my hand. I was much less worried about my passport getting stolen in the event of a break-in than my wedding rings. These were my most prized possessions - the rings with which my husband got down on one knee and said he couldn’t live without me.
Needless to say I cried all night and most of the next day. And had a panic attack. It’s been a rough vacation, you guys. There have been wonderful, lovely moments. Waking up next to the ocean is glorious. The sea air in magical and Crete is stunning. But, fuck.
We filed an insurance claim (shoutout to my best friend, Cristina Vanko, for making me get insurance and calling me “a fucking idiot” when I said I didn’t have it yet a few months ago). They came through really quickly (a miracle itself) and my jeweler is making me a new set.
Through all of this, there has been one incredible thing I’ve learned: Things are just things. I didn’t realize the intense anxiety I had about my rings until they were really gone. I was ascribing them with some transcendent power. Like if they were to get lost, my marriage would end, I would die, everything in the world be over.
But, that isn’t true. My husband pulled me into his arms on the beach, never getting angry or upset, and said “It’s OK. Things are just things. What matters is that we love each other.”
My sister-in-law offered a fresh take I’ve decided to completely embrace (even if I’m still devastated, let’s be real). She said “It’s kind of romantic when you think about it. A piece of your love will always be in the Mediterranean sea, in a beautiful place.”
So, the rings are now an offering to Poseidon. I’m not as angry with the ocean anymore - even though I currently have a yeast infection because what the fuck is my luck. And I’m not as angry at myself. This was a tragic accident. I have my health, a beautiful, caring, loving husband who is obsessed with me. I live in gorgeous London in an adorable flat. I have lovely friends that I treasure. I have a great job doing what I love for a living (even though freelancing is a BITCH sometimes). In fact, it’s a contract I signed that paid for this vacation to Greece in the first place.
Love is the most important thing. Love is not a set of rings. Love is inside me and all around me.
This week’s mantras:
- I will not give eternal meaning to material objects.
- I will always embrace love.
- I will not self-blame when the unexpected happens.
I hope you have the most wonderful week, my unicorn baby. I love you very much.