Yesterday I explored an antique shop and estate sale in town. I had a vague idea of what to expect, but honestly, nothing prepared me for what I saw.

At the entrance, I was greeted by a bear and walls covered in paintings. Art lined the walking path throughout the store, and above them sat glass shelves filled with unique Alaskan Native artifacts, Biblical trinkets, and household items like dining utensils. The craftsmanship was immaculate — every piece carved and detailed with care.

As I moved deeper inside, I passed household treasures: a gold tea kettle that made my eyes gleam, crystal vases, and a bookcase stacked with books on guns, especially Colt .45s. Being in a hunter’s state, it made sense, but what caught me off guard were Volume 1 and 2 of The History of California. Oddly enough, they even had an overflow of spoons — rows of silver dining utensils, including one set with a brush for upkeep.

Then came the jewelry section. I knew I was home. In that moment, I told myself: I’m shopping for a heart locket to replace what was stolen from me. The first piece they brought out was everything I imagined and more — a 14k gold chain with a matching locket, a citrine diamond in the center surrounded by diamonds along the edges. Flawless, breathtaking, and fit for a queen… ME, duh. When I asked the price, they told me $6,800. Instead of discouraging me, it lit a fire. That necklace will be mine.

Of course, the salespeople tried to show me other pieces, but my mind was made up. My past necklaces may have maxed out at $3,000, but this one marks a new chapter: I get what I want because I deserve it.

Toward the back, I noticed purses and designer bags, none of which moved me. Truth is, the only designer I wear is me. I’m too hard on bags anyway — give me a laptop bag and I’m good.

As I looked down at more artwork, one piece stopped me cold — a simple outline of a distorted man. Something about it screamed Picasso. I checked the tag and… it was. I froze, literally reminding myself to breathe as I stood inches away from an original work by the artist I grew up admiring. The thought that it was as old as I am, and worth more than my last three paychecks combined, left me speechless. The sales rep later told me the piece once belonged to a family right here in town.

Walking out, I felt changed. Surrounded by timeless treasures — some I recognized, others I couldn’t name — I felt called to learn more about art, to train my eyes to recognize greatness without needing Google. But more than that, I left with fuel. Costume jewelry will never satisfy me. My taste has evolved, my standard is set, and my necklace is waiting.

I’ve already made my decision: I’ll grind harder, pray harder, and claim what’s mine. That necklace isn’t just gold and diamonds — it’s a symbol of the life I’m stepping into. A reminder that I don’t just admire treasures. I claim them.

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