Remember when you were in 5th grade and your mom wouldn’t let you get your ears pierced until you were 12 and it was just the most excruciating thing watching all your friends turn 12 and get their ears pierced at the mall while you were studying the metric system?

I remember.

I also remember being like: I am done dabbing peroxide on my earlobes and twirling the studs because this is boring and so not worth it.

Which should have been the end of my earring-wearing dreams because those holes closed up faster than the Orange Julius.


But then, years later, my prom date thought it’d be cool if he gave me a pair of earrings to wear at the big dance and I got my little hiney back in the piercing chair at Claire’s because how romantic is that?

Romantic enough that I became a semi-regular earring wearer for all the years leading up to the fateful day I left my favorite pair in a hotel room and I couldn’t be bothered to ever put an earring in my ear again.


Until my high school reunion came around and I found these really cool earrings that probably JLo would also wear to her high school reunion and I found myself once again in Claire’s chair getting punched in the lobe for a third time.

Friends, the third time was not the charm.

I wore JLo’s earrings to my reunion. And that was the end of all of my earring eras.


So I know it will shock you to hear that I have earrings in my jewelry box.

Why do I have earrings if my ears aren’t even pierced anymore?

Well.

Sometimes an earring isn’t just an earring.
Because sometimes it’s a shiny portal to an alternate you.

It’s like a permission slip that says:

• “Whenever you want, you could be that woman again.”
• And “You’re not locked into being the woman you currently are.”
• And “It’s possible that one day you’ll want to change everything you know about yourself and go back to being a woman who wears earrings.”

And oh how we love to get permission to do what we want.

Except the thing is: I don’t really want to be the woman who wears earrings anymore.
I just also don’t want to close the door on being able to become her.


And so you see my dilemma here.

I’m not attached to the earrings. Or even the idea of wearing the earrings.

I’m attached to keeping my options open and my possibilities alive.

And if we love anything more than permission, it’s options and possibilities.


We love maybe. I love maybe so much I can also say it in Italian (forse) and Portuguese (talvez).

Maybe is comforting. Maybe is hopeful. Maybe nods her head knowingly and whispers:

• “This isn’t over. Not just yet.”
• “I could, if I wanted.”
• “It’s not impossible, it’s I’m possible.” (Because sometimes maybe is cheesy.)

And even if you never intend to use the option? It feels darn good to know that you have it.


The earrings in my jewelry box are proof that I’m the kind of woman with possibilities. And having to decide whether to keep them or not feels like I’m admitting something final about myself.

Like I’m choosing between who I could be and who I actually am.

Like I’m standing at the crossroads of hope and commitment. Where commitment feels like loss, even when it’s actually clarity.


Because what is clear to me is that I am never going to be a woman who wears earrings again. I’m just not.

I’ve been that woman before and she was great, but even she didn’t want to be that woman because she never wore the earrings, which is why all of the holes I’ve ever had in my ears have all closed up like Bed Bath and Beyond.

Which of course means that this “maybe” life I’ve been holding on to these earrings for is truly not what I’m cracking it up to be in my fantasy.

There’s a reason why I’m not wearing earrings anymore. And it’s the same reason why I’ll never wear them again.

And so I’m no longer storing earrings in the name of possibility.

Because possibility isn’t something you store.
It’s something you are.

I don’t need to keep earrings as proof that I could be a woman who wears earrings. I already know I could.

​​I don’t need permission to be her. I’ve already been her.

What I really need is permission to not be her. Permission to go on with my bad self and be … me.


This is true for a lot of our stuff.

We keep things for the life we might live. Or for the life we already lived. Or for the life that the version of us that loved Ben Affleck lived and we’re just not ready to say goodbye to her (or him) just yet.


Maybe is great when it makes you dream.

But maybe is unnecessary when it’s just taking up space in your drawer and delaying the inevitable no.

At some point, maybe stops being hope and starts being a drag. And at that point, maybe needs you to make a decision.

If you say: Yeah, I do want to be that person! Then Get On The Floor. Step on the Floor. Tear Up The Floor. And do what you need to do to be that version of you.

Pierce your ears. Use the purse. Knit the sweater. Open the Etsy store. Book the ski vacation. Live the life you’ve been storing the stuff to live.

But if you’re like: Nah, that’s not all that interesting to me anymore. Then stop Waiting For Tonight. Drop it in a donation bag. Say goodbye. And as painful as it is …

Let Ben Affleck go.



Your “don’t get me earrings for Christmas” friend,
Vivian