Ever since scouring thrift shops for fabulous finds as a teenager, I have been a bargain queen. One of my favorite places to frequent was a crazy warehouse called Ruben's in Harrisburg, PA. Apparently it was a rag factory during the week (is that a thing?) that opened its doors to the public on Saturday mornings to sell clothes by the pound. 

I'd search through bin after bin for treasures to fill my garbage bag, which would end up costing about $2 or $3 when it was weighed on an industrial scale. Shirts, skirts, pants, dresses, coats...my entire high school wardrobe probably cost no more than 20 bucks.

I still enjoy digging through piles for vintage clothing--and often think, $10 for this? It would have been a dime at Ruben's--but my talent for thriftiness goes beyond thrift stores. Like Kohl's, for example.

I love Kohl's. More often than not, my response to any compliment about what I'm wearing is, "Kohl's!" This is often followed up by how much the item cost. If I can remember, I will include the original price and the amount of the discount.

My friends marvel at my ability to sniff out bargains and don't understand how I do it. Well gals, here's how.

1. It helps if you're not looking for something specific.

Today, I was looking for a new pair of jeans and maybe a cute top for an upcoming event.

2. It really helps if you have enough time to devote to it. 

Although I can bargain-shop at any speed, it's best to leave that to the experts. You're not ready.

3. Have a coupon. 

I get coupons from Kohl's. All. The. Time. Oddly, I didn't have one sitting around today, so I checked out their site before I left home and printed a 20% off coupon. It's important to consider your final discount as you're searching the racks. Something may not be ten-dollars-cute, but it could be eight-dollars-cute.

4. Go straight to the sale racks. 

Seriously. Just walk right past the non-sale racks. Even if you have a coupon. Trust me. 

I find that the pain of trying on jeans is second only to trying on swimsuits. My strategy is to overload my cart so I only have to go to the dressing room once. Get all the sizes, styles, and colors for convenience' sake. And there are so many choices on the clearance racks, why would you bother throwing the full-priced items into the mix?

5. Buy basics and off-season items. 

l mean, you can never have enough tank tops or cardigans.

6. Don't be afraid to try something outside your typical style zone. 

Again, it goes back to ten-dollar-cute vs. eight-dollar-cute. Honestly, some of my favorite items are things I wouldn't normally have gone for, but the price was right so why not?

Okay, ready to see what I got?

My grand total? All the items you see above PLUS $10 in Kohl's cash (because I spent more than $50) cost me $59.39. Had I shopped in tax-free Delaware, I could have saved an additional 55¢, but I can live with that. Also, I didn't find the cute top I was looking for, but this is still a win.

The receipt says it all. If I had purchased everything at full price, it would have cost me $265.12. That's just dumb. 

And THAT, my friends, is how you get that bargain booty.

I've been told that a person should only wear jewelry with sentimental value. I break that rule every once in awhile when I find a cheap something or other, but for the most part I know the story behind the jewelry I wear. 

There's the blue beaded necklace that Amy gave me because it suited me so well when I tried it on, even though I originally think that she intended to keep it for herself. I have the Navajo earrings that Caitlyn brought back from Arizona, which I'm still gleefully incorporating into my wardrobe. Of course there's the textured copper crescent necklace with asymmetrical beads on the chain made by my incredibly talented jeweler friend, Draya. One of my most standout accessories is the unicorn rainbow pin that my friend Joe gave me for my birthday shortly before moving far away. I also love the orange chunky necklace my mom gave me and went to great lengths to replace when I broke it, the feather earrings I got from a street artist, the divinely smooth wooden pendant necklace that Jamie gave me for Mother's Day, the delicate silver bracelet that Jamie gave me for my birthday, basically any piece that Jamie gave me, and on and on and on. These are the staples. I put them on and take them off regularly, rely on their weight against my body, let their vibrant colors bring my face to life, build an entire wardrobe around them. 

There's one piece of jewelry, however, that I have never removed and often overlook as being an extension of my body. It's a simple, tattered ankle bracelet. While I've long outgrown my hemp choker and woven bracelet phase, I adore this stringy, knotted, beaded anklet. It's not just a piece of jewelry with a story behind it. It is the story itself, a souvenir of some great time and place. For about six summers in a row through my adolescence I traveled with friends and groups and sometimes strangers to Nicaragua with a non-profit called Bridges to Community. The organization was in its infancy on my first trip at the age of 15. I ventured south of the border, my first international trip without one of my parents, alongside my childhood best friend Leanne and her father Dave to build houses with families left homeless after various hurricanes and revolutions. Two week stints were spent polishing my Spanish, dancing, mixing cement, laughing, bartering, carrying bags of sand, playing futbol, building rebar and laying blocks, swimming in shark infested fresh water lake Nicaragua, hiking volcanoes, eating rice and beans, and generally expanding my love of the world and its rich, diverse cultures. 

It was on this first trip that we were introduced to a group of orphans who lived like the lost boys in what I remember to be tree houses by the lake. They ranged in age and learned early on to take care of themselves. One of the ways they did this was by making and selling bracelets. I'm sure it cost me about two dollars to buy the bracelet that I tied around my ankle, and I remember choosing the one that was the most beautiful, and the boys agreeing that it was perfect for me. I didn't have a plan for my ownership of the jewelry but it turned out that I never, ever wanted to remove it. It feels just right on my ankle, falling across the top of my foot, always reminding me of my years of service in Central America. No matter how annoying it is to have to remove my right sock carefully enough to avoid ripping the anklet, no matter how many weird puddles it leaves on sheets after I shower, no matter how old or ratty or out of fashion it might become, it is a symbol of my travels and friends, of my fortune having two living parents, and of the presence in my mind of people not being served by their government or peers or universe or whoever is supposed to make sure that kids don't get malaria and moms don't get asthma cooking tortillas all day. 

You can imagine my surprise when I discovered last week it was missing.

For 15 years I feared what would happen if I ever lost my ankle bracelet. I assumed it would be due to nothing less tragic than severing my foot from my leg or being victimized by grabby trolls while crossing a bridge. I stood in my closet, eyes wide open, staring at my naked ankle. Friends were waiting downstairs so I didn't want to take the time to search my house obsessively. Being winter, I hoped that it couldn't be much farther than tangled an inside-out sock or tight pair of pants, but I didn't know what to do and realized that it could actually be anywhere. I picked up my drink and remained calm, completely shocked at my lack of hysterical bawling. My favorite piece of jewelry, my bastion of worldly adventure was gone. What would I do?

Like any good disaster sister, I ate and drank enough to be distracted and explained the situation in passing as if it didn't bother me. I was almost bothered by how much it didn't bother me. Having recently experienced some serious bouts of missing a few faraway friends, I only assumed that I was being taught to let go. Maybe the anklet was never mine in the first place. Maybe I shouldn't be so attached to personal belongings. Maybe we had a good run and it's simply time to move on. Crappy, but sensible. I began the process of letting go.

What happened next in the saga sparks everything within me that makes me want to watch romantic comedies and listen to pop music and roll around in grassy fields with chubby bunnies and berries. I found it! I took a heaping pile of clothing into the laundry room and rather mindlessly shoved handfuls of articles into the washer until I uncovered a very familiar trinket. Still tied in what is proved to be the world's greatest knot, my anklet lay in waiting on top of my dirty jeans. It was never lost, and it slipped right back onto my foot like it had never been anywhere else.

As someone who very intently searches for lost objects and almost always succeeds in finding them, I find it interesting that I didn't drop everything to search frantically for what went missing. Maybe deep down I knew that I would find it. Or maybe I actually loved the ankle bracelet enough to let it go, fortified by our many years together to continue on with my life. Maybe I was feeling centered enough to shift my expectations from "this is how my life is and will be" to "now this is how my life will be, and it's different than I thought." I don't always love change. I'm open to the stuff I can manifest, but, c'mon, please don't go rearranging my shelves without asking me first! I think I learned that even though it can be sad to lose something, it's not productive to add the fear of being without something on top of the devastation of losing it. 

Most importantly, though, I understand all of those "if you love something, set it free" cliches more than ever. So if your bracelet or your dog or your car or your lover isn't where you thought it might be, find gratitude for the moments when you could anticipate its whereabouts, and if you ever find yourself wearing it again, never take for granted the way it feels on your skin.