I got my ears pierced when I was eight years old. It was a rite of passage in our family.
At first I only wore studs, but when I got to high school I started wearing big earrings. I think they’re fun and interesting to look at—and I like how they knock at my neck when I move my head. A few years ago, I bought myself a cheap pair of gold hoops with gray tassels hanging off of them.
Unfortunately, they hung so low that if I wore something with a big collar, they would catch on it and fall out. Usually I’d notice and find the missing earring before it was too late, but a few weeks ago I lost one for good. I put the single earring on my desk.
Today, fifteen seconds after throwing it away, I fished it out of the trash can and put it back.
But I couldn’t really tell you why.
I work hard to keep my house spare and neat. It helps me feel less stressed if my surfaces are clean (besides the refrigerator, inside and out. That’s a losing battle). Random junk usually gets relegated to the trash can or to Goodwill, and almost everything serves a purpose, whether it’s purely aesthetic or intentionally functional.
But this earring does nothing for me.
It doesn’t make me think, or cause me to worry, or spark joy or interest. It just is, and that’s the beauty of it.
I don’t have to think about it, or use it, or worry if it disappears. It is useless.
This doesn’t mean that I’m going to start filling my house with useless things, but I am growing to realize that sometimes it’s okay—for me and for others and even for my items—to just be.
The sole survivor