I am a firm believer that the things we love say a lot about who we are, even when we don’t realize it. For as long as I can remember, for me, it has always been gold jewelry. The soft, warm pieces that feel like they’ve lived a life before me.
Gold has been woven into my story for as long as I can remember. The funny thing is, everyone close to me knows it, almost instinctively. If someone is looking to buy me a gift, they don’t even ask anymore. They just go straight for gold.
I think it started with my mom. She is not as avid a gold wearer as I am, but there is definitely a pattern. Every milestone in my life came with something gold. My first communion necklace. My first pair of earrings after I begged to get my ears pierced. The dainty necklace she gave me when I turned 16, which I wore every day until it was tarnished completely.
Each piece felt like a quiet reminder that I loved that someone had thought of me long enough to choose something that would last.
By the time I got to college, gold jewelry had become a comfortable object. When everything else felt new and overwhelming, I’d reach up and touch the pendant resting against my collarbone and feel grounded. It was like carrying a piece of home with me, even when I was hundreds of miles away. That might be why people notice. Maybe that is why they remember.
On Christmas this year, my dad handed me a tiny velvet pouch with a proud smile on his face. Inside was a dainty gold necklace with angel wings on it. I almost cried, not because of the necklace itself but because he had paid attention.
That’s the thing about gold. It is personal, intimate, the kind of gift you give when you want someone to feel known. And I think that’s why everyone close to me remembers. They’ve watched me reach for the same piece day after day. They’ve seen how I treat my jewelry like tiny treasures, how I take them off gently at night and line them up on my dresser like they’re sleeping.
Gold has become a language between the people I love and me. When someone gives me a gold necklace or bracelet, they’re not just giving me an accessory. They’re giving me a moment, a memory, a piece of themselves. They’re saying, “I know you. I see you. I care enough to choose something that will last” without saying it.