I believe that things have energy, and that we give objects energy through the memories and feelings we associate with them. I recently admired the Rolex of a man I’ve been dating. He said he’s been wearing it every day for 25 years, ever since he bought it with the money from cashing in the engagement ring that he’d given a great love — and was later returned.
“I wonder if subconsciously you hang on to that heartbreak by wearing that watch every day,” I said. “Maybe if you swap that one out for a new watch, you will finally find the wife you’ve been looking for.”
“That’s heavy,” he said, and smiled. “Maybe.”
About a year after my husband and I separated, I realized it was time to buy a new mattress. Sure, there was the perpetual sag that left me with achy muscles each morning, no matter how many times I flipped that sucker. But more than that, a bed is a bed. A marital bed is a marital bed. Where all kinds of things happen between a couple. Tender talk. Dreams shared. Bitter arguments that were indeed not solved before going to sleep. Adult things, of course. Mundane things, like folding laundry and sharing aloud from magazines under bedside lamps. The dull ache of missing the other person’s breathing when he is away on business. Hours and hours of energy spent as a married couple on that mattress.