Take a look at my wrist and you’ll probably miss it. The watch I’m wearing isn’t flashy. The gold is a bit faded now, and there are a few scratches on the face. Nothing about it screams attention. It’s old. But it still does its job—and for now, that’s good enough.
I got it years ago from a visiting doctor at work. He was one of those people you don’t forget—not because he was important (though he was), but because he didn’t act like it. On his last day, out of nowhere, he handed me this watch. Just said, “You’ve been kind. It’s a small thank-you.” Then he left.
And that was that.
Since then, the watch has stuck around. Not for any emotional reason. It just works, and I haven’t found a replacement I actually like. So it’s been through office days, travels, dinners, downtime—still ticking, still telling time. That’s all I need from it.
Eventually I’ll swap it for something new. But until then, this slightly beat-up watch stays on my wrist. No backstory needed, no deep meaning. It’s just reliable—and sometimes, that’s all you’re really looking for.
Some things don’t lose value with age—they gain stories.
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