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I Wasn’t Just Buying Jewelry. I Was Preserving Memories
It started as souvenir shopping, but now I realize each piece reveals something different about my life and who I was at the time
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Welcome to Ethels Tell All, where the writers behind The Ethel newsletter share their personal stories related to the joys and challenges of aging. Come back every other Wednesday for the latest piece, exclusively on AARP Members Edition.
I always try to bring home a piece of jewelry from every vacation. It’s a wearable souvenir that feels far more personal than a fridge magnet. And when someone comments on the necklace, ring or other bauble, it often becomes a good opportunity to share its origin story and make a connection with the person asking.
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I bought the first of these mementos — a chunky silver necklace with a geometric pattern — in San Miguel de Allende during my 1990 honeymoon in Mexico. Then, when I was pregnant with my daughter, I bought an inexpensive beaded necklace with a turtle pendant from a vendor on the beach in Puerto Rico. (The turtle’s “shell” was a clear green stone that protruded like my belly.) Years later, during a family trip to Ireland, a silver cocktail ring with an oval-shaped watermelon tourmaline stone caught my eye in the window of a jewelry store as the three of us pedaled bicycles through a picturesque town in the rain.
And last fall in Paris, my husband bought me a vintage 18-carat gold Chopard diamond heart pendant with a heavy rope chain. It was a generous gift meant to commemorate my birthday, but just days before leaving for France, I was laid off from my full-time job. The necklace became a bittersweet symbol of unexpected freedom and new beginnings.
That’s when I came to realize that the pieces of jewelry I’d collected for years were more than just souvenirs from my travels. Each represents a different stage of my life and a version of myself.
“We often buy jewelry in periods of transition,” says Melanie Phelps, a United Kingdom-based psychologist who has written about our emotional connection to the pieces we choose. “Like a child’s teddy bear, it anchors you to comfort, security and safety.”
That geometric silver necklace in Mexico, purchased with wedding money, shone with the excitement I felt about building a life together with my best friend. The Puerto Rican turtle pendant marked my joy at becoming a mother after a heartbreaking miscarriage. The tourmaline stone in Ireland helped me come to terms with the fact that my daughter was becoming increasingly independent, the memory of her biking confidently in the rain a reminder that she didn’t need me to walk her to school anymore.
This past summer, on vacation in Greece, it was my husband who spotted a gold cocktail ring with a breathtaking sky-blue stone in a boutique along a narrow cobblestone street. When I slipped the ring on, it fit as if it were made for me. I also tried on a matching cuff and loved how they looked together.
“How much?” my husband asked the salesperson. She explained that the ring was $250 because it was gold-plated, unlike the gold cuff, which was heavier and much more expensive. I reluctantly had her return the cuff to the case.
But once back home, I kept thinking — OK, obsessing — about the matching cuff. When I tried it on in the shop, I felt like Wonder Woman. I ended up buying it off the boutique’s website.
“Maybe if you’d seen the blue cocktail ring and cuff 10 years ago, you would have chosen something different,” Phelps told me. “But they link to where you’re at in your life. Both are quite bold, which matches your bolder personality at this stage.”
Although both the Greek boutique and the Paris jeweler likely charged “tourist-only” prices, I have no regrets about paying them. Gemologist Rachel Akmakjian acknowledges that “prices are often higher in heavily touristed areas.” However, “the sentimental value and memory associated with the purchase can justify the higher price.” Still, Akmakjian recommended that I consult a professional appraiser for insurance or resale purposes.
I have no plans to resell my jewelry. What began as a habit of buying wearable souvenirs has become a private archive of my life: a collection of memories, not always with any monetary value, but all infinitely valuable to me.
My hope is that when my daughter inherits the collection, she’ll sort through it and find pieces that appeal to her — not because of what they cost, but because they’ll help her better understand the choices that I made in life.
AARP essays share a point of view in the author’s voice, drawn from expertise or experience, and do not necessarily reflect the views of AARP.
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