I’ve noticed a curious mind-body confusion.
For me, it’s my thumb. My thumb checks regularly. If it finds it, no big deal. I don’t even think about it. But when it doesn’t, my thumb throws up the red flags that I can’t ignore it. I can’t stop noticing the absence of it.
I’m talking about my wedding ring. My thumb has been through this before, so it knows the drill.
I lost my first wedding ring in the sand at the edge of the Pacific ocean.
Two years into our marriage, my wife and I traveled to Hawaii. My favorite place was a wicked body-surfing beach just past the Halona blowhole on Koko Head — Sandy Beach. This was the only time in my (admittedly limited) body surfing experience where I purposely sought out the small waves. Balancing right along the edge of exhilarating and terrifying.
After one particularly turbulent ride, I extracted myself from the sand, and my thumb told me immediately. It was gone. I remember constantly thinking about its absence.
So I got another one quickly, which served me until a few days ago. I lost this second one to rheumatoid arthritis.
Now my thumb is aggravated again. I can’t not notice its absence. From one perspective, this mind-body confusion makes sense. My ring was a constant physical presence.
I wonder, though, if the real confusion comes from the story I tell myself about the ring.
