While putting the office key in the door to start a new workday, the sound of a metal amalgam hitting the ground suddenly rang through the air sparking a moment of reflection.

Half of my keys had somehow detached from the rest of the group, and after a swift investigation, I found the culprit to be one of the keychains that I’ve had in my collection for a while.

The tiny ring that connected it to the other keys had given out and removed it from eligibility to continue as a member of the unlocking team.

Keychains were never items that I ever intended to collect. They always seemed to be thrusted upon me in the kindest way.

It’s always nice when someone returns from a vacation or even just a trip from the store and lets you know that they found something that made them think of you.

That being said, I probably have more keychains than a person should probably have.

One is a baseball picture of my cousin from one of his seasons playing. The photo package his mom picked out came with two keychains, and I was the lucky recipient of one. Another nice gesture if I do say so.

I have another one that was a souvenir from a trip to Disney World that I didn’t go on. It’s a metal key chain in the shape of Mickey Mouse that has a little bit of weight to it, so I could probably use it in an attack situation, if need be, though it would undoubtedly take me a minute to file through my keys.

Another of the chains in my collection is a piece made by a church friend who dabbles in leatherwork as a hobby. He was recently diagnosed with Parkinson’s and isn’t as able to partake in that hobby anymore, so it’s definitely one that I hold dear.

The keychain that decided to secede from the rest of the group on this particular day, though, was one that I bought for myself several years ago.

An email came into my inbox with a list of shows coming up at the historic Ryman Auditorium. One of the acts that caught my eye was “Weird Al” Yankovic.

I’m by no means a “Weird Al” superfan. My knowledge of his music was designated to his most popular songs that I only ever heard on occasion, but I had heard that he put on a pretty fun stage show, so I figured why not try it out.

Some issues with the ticket purchasing website on my end led to a friend buying the tickets and gifting them to me as an early birthday present. We checked out the merch table before going in, and of all the things that caught my eye aside from a t-shirt, the one that I decided to purchase was a shiny new keychain that said “’Weird Al’ Yankovic” in big letters.

We made our way into the show and found our seats. The version of the show that we saw was a strippeddown version from his typical stage show. There was no elaborate production, and all of the songs that he performed were some of his less familiar non-parody ones.

Nonetheless, it was an enjoyable time. A hoot and a half if you will.

On the way back to my buddy’s car, I added my newly acquired keychain to my set of keys, which if you’ve never navigated Downtown Nashville after a concert, was no easy feat.

After that, except for the occasional instances where I needed an object that was heavy and flat to pry something open with, the keychain just hung out with the others unattended and unconsidered.

It wasn’t until it made its escape that I started to reflect on the circumstances around how I acquired it or any of the other pieces of metal I carry around in my pocket on a daily basis.

Life has a weird (no pun intended) way of jumpstarting the thought processes sometimes.

At least three times a day I hold my keys in my hand, yet I’ve never fully considered how precisely they encompass nearly every aspect of my life.

There’s a key for work, a key for home, a couple of keys for church and at least one that belongs to a relative’s front door all held together by a collection of keychains that represent different memories and special people in my life.

This tangled mess of varying materials that I curse every time I’m sitting at my desk and accidentally hit the alarm button on my key FOB offers a glimpse into my life. An inanimate object that I mindlessly toss up on the counter every day perfectly incapsulates who I am.

That’s pretty weird if you ask me, but also pretty wonderful.

And the pun was intended that time.