Back in June, I received a bracelet enscribed with the word "Hope". (The story behind it can be found at the bottom of this post, if you're too lazy to scroll down.) The original lasted until September, when it broke on the day I was leaving Pittsburgh for my five day cross-country drive to Sleepy Hamlet. Thinking that it was an ominous sign to drive across the country without hope, my mother gave me hers (she hadn't opened the package). Unlike the previous bracelet, which I would take off to shower, I never took this one off.
I woke up this morning to find it broken on the air mattress where I had spent the night.
A psychologist might find it interesting that I now equate the snapping of my charm with the end of the Steelers' championship run, rather than the loss of hope in my life. Of course, said psychologist would have a field day with my devotion to my football team.
However, I feel like I'm at a better place now that when I donned that bracelet. My brother and I were kidding around about this this morning, and we were making jokes like, "You're carrying hope in here!" while pointing to our chest. "You've had it all along!" And...there's probably some truth to that, you know?
I'm not going in search for another "Hope" bracelet. I feel like the bracelets did their job. And while I won't miss people asking me why I'm wearing a hairband on my arm, and even though I will probably rub my wrist looking for that familiar band for the next few months, I no longer need a waking reminder of the fact that my life is going to get better.
Because it has.