Upgrade itch

And the pearls sat inside my drawer, waiting for some occasion worthy of them. Some of them are starting to wear out, waiting for that day. And I know that they are there, sitting and waiting. Perhaps waiting for me to wear them even without an occasion.

Sure, my pearls are still pearls, carrying memories of island warmth. But somehow, lately, I’ve been noticing how the luster has gone a little soft, the clasps fading. I can’t tell if they changed or if I did.

So one night, I began to look for pearls online, and oh, how shiny and new they all looked! I could imagine myself being one of those pretty women wearing them, smiling. I kept scrolling. Then scrolling some more. Then this desire just bobbed its head, not from need but from exposure to the market. I felt like I wanted a new set of pearls. No, scratch that. I need a new set of pearls.

The market truly did its job very well, making what I already owned feel insufficient. As if my pearls, real and worn and mine, had somehow become less. As if running toward the next thing would bring that ultimate joy, but the feeling of ‘enough’ never arrives.

I do not want someone else’s pearls! All I want is a fresher, shinier version of my own. And is it bad to want that? But even as I asked, I knew the answer felt slippery. Because the story I was telling myself kept twisting—getting the thing would not stop the wanting. It never does. It just shifts to the next version, the next drawer, the next itch to upgrade.