I got a new belt today.
Like many events in my life, this small one is a metaphor for personal growth.
To my recollection, it’s the first I’ve ever purchased fully on my own, without input from anyone else. It’s a dress belt, wide enough to pair with dark jeans too. The buckle is gunmetal gray—smooth overall, with one ridged, textured edge that gives it a little grit, the same way I carry a bit of grit in myself.
When I picked it up from the Amazon locker and put it on, it fit perfectly. The tongue lay flat instead of sticking out like my old one. That old belt was floppy with age.
Now that I've got this on, what do I do with the old one?
I bought it in 2008, the year I got married. (Divorced in 2018.) My wife had held it up at Target and said, “This one’s good.” So I bought it.
Back then, I was a codependent who often only felt happy if she was happy. My default was to ask her what looked good on me instead of deciding for myself.
So this new belt matters. It’s mine. I didn’t ask anyone. And when I wondered what to do with the old one, I just threw it away.
Seventeen years is a long time to hold onto a belt. I say “hold onto” because that’s what I did—hold onto a version of myself that didn’t know how to choose. I could have replaced it at any point after my divorce. But I didn’t.
Why?
Good question. Maybe we’ll figure that out in a future post. :)
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