The Airplane Bracelet

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I’d walk by them at the store, admire them, and run my index finger over the tiny beads and the plane that sat in the center. With others milling about with no thoughts about why I stood in awe, I’d take a few minutes and be in my little world, lovingly admiring its simplicity. Something so little caused such a well of happiness in my soul that I had to pull myself away from them any day I went to this store because, in comfort, they also caused discomfort.

Each time, I’d go back, repeat the routine, and walk away without buying it. Unease filled me in both coming and going. Each day, I walked away. 

Buying the bracelet would cause problems at home, and I was working actively not to cause any more problems or rustle any more feathers. 

It wasn’t the price that would cause these problems but the symbol that the plane would signify in the head of my significant other if I purchased this little trinket of self-perceived hope. 

I tell everyone who comments on its simple beauty that it’s because I love to travel, and I do, so I’m not lying. But I’m also not being truthful.

The plane means so much more to me than a mode of travel, transport, and industry. 

It’s a beacon of hope, of magic, transformation, freedom, an image of growth, of invention, innovation. It also meant a bit more under the surface: safety, understanding, dreams coming true, and the hope for better after being at my worst. It was the mustard seed Christians cling to, yet mine a tiny golden airplane wishing me the peace and calm I craved in my coming journey.

I finally bought it at my lowest and wore it under my Fitbit, so it stayed hidden. After all, I needed something hopeful to remind me I’d be okay even at the risk of causing problems in my marriage because I knew he would hate what he thought it would signify.

It signified a life beyond this emotional pain at the hands of who I thought my future was and that not every day would be like this. So, anytime I felt like giving up, I ran my fingers over the beads, traced the tiny plane, and cried in hopes of gathering enough strength to move forward. 

Now, the silver is coming through the gold where I’ve run my fingers over its polished metal, and I’ve since bought a new one for the day this one finally gives out with how much I’ve put it through. If hearts, minds, and aching souls could, I wish I could replace those just as easily as I could the tiny gold chain with its little gold plane but still hold on to the precious scraps that got me here.

To today.

To yet another day.