Find Your Thing, And Keep It

AS a young girl, I watched my great grandmother get ready for outings beyond the doors of the rambler on Mexico Street where my grandfather and four generations of New Orleans Creole women and girls lived. Each, including my sisters, had a fascinating routine for preparing themselves to meet the world, whether for work or some social event.

Sometimes things could get confusing, if not downright chaotic. Still, I could always count on my great grandmother to put a certain ornament in her hair before she stepped out the door.

It wasn’t a good luck charm. It was far more significant. It seemed like protective armor. Perhaps a talisman, even. She never called it that; naming a thing can sometimes strip it of its magic, its secret purpose.

I believed if she wanted or needed it, that ornament could part people in her path the way Moses used his staff to part the red sea. My great grandmother’s pin helped her feel empowered and remind her of her value to herself and to her immediate world.

I imagine the tutu had the same sort of effect for Misty Copeland. There were times that costume of dance helped her overcome challenges from within and from people who believed she did not belong; ultimately it anchored her, allowing her to leap forward achieving unprecedented success.

A thing, seemingly simply, innocuous can help its owner do the amazing. My grandmother had a diamond ring that she wore even when she went to clean hotel rooms and later in life fry chicken at a French Quarter restaurant. For my mother relied on an eyebrow pencil; she lined her eyes with it, expanding her vision, helping, perhaps, to see the unseen.

Recently, my granddaughter revealed that for her the thing is lipstick. When she first began to wear it, a few years ago, she took great time blending colors until finally capturing just the right one. A person who sees verbal communication as critical to her persona and power, her shaded lips, shaped the words as she released them from her mouth.

These objects give physical presence to rituals that we have created to enhance our auras and energize our spirit, our soul. They matter.

              One day, when my great grandmother wasn’t looking, I took the ornament off her dresser and held it in my hand for a few minutes. I was a thing of beauty—and power. I wanted to at least transfer the latter to me.  Nothing happened. After a while, I returned it where I found it among her things.

Days later, I mentioned to her that I had touched it and that it wasn’t at all like I had imagined it would be. She smiled and told me that each of us is unique and that each thing we possess is unique to us, even if it seems just like something someone else has. My young mind initially translated that to mean the ornament was no big thing.

As I have grown older, and wiser, I hope, I have come to understand what my great grandmother meant that day.

Interestingly, I have my own ornamental pin. Actually, I have two. I alternative them, depending on the circumstances in which I expect to find myself.

One day they can be sentries. On another they are soft comforters, perhaps like Linus’ blanket—only cleaner.

Do you have a thing that completes your sense of who you are? Does it help you define your power, innately? Does it help you quietly separate yourself from others without necessarily diminishing them? Does it make you feel good or bring you joy?

If you don’t have a thing? Maybe you have an affirmation, a type of slogan, which guides you through your day, helping you to stay on your path, helping you to avoid obstacles, helping you to complete your mission, your destiny. Do you have a song that gets inside of you and nourishes your soul like a hearty meal does your body?

If you don’t have a thing or don’t know your thing, make 2026 the year you discover it. Don’t rush the search. But locate  that talisman, that affirmation, and then, learn how to use it, masterfully.

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