Recently, I found myself unexpectedly emotional while contemplating a bottle of perfume. On one of those rare occasions when I allowed myself to indulge, I reached for the bottle that resides next to my jewelry box rather than the one on my dresser. The latter gets spritzed daily, enveloping me in its delightful scent and brightening my mornings.
The perfume near my jewelry box, however, carries the essence of my wedding day. It envelops me in nostalgia, making me feel rejuvenated and beautiful, as if time had reversed. But when I finally uncapped it after far too long, my heart sank. The once-cherished scent erupted in a dissonance of spoiled notes, a reminder that I had let too much time pass between special occasions. In that moment, I knew I had to toss the bottle away, much like the used tissues and cotton balls that cluttered my space.
I have a habit of saving things—not money, which often frustrates my partner—but rather experiences and items I deem “special.” I purge old clothes and toys with ease, yet I hold back on using my favorite products. I tell myself I’ll wear that beautiful dress when I lose those stubborn pounds, or I’ll start painting my nails when I finally stop biting my cuticles. I even think about getting a stylish purse once I feel like I’ve truly matured.
As I drove alone to pick up cupcakes on a crisp Michigan day, I slipped on my sunglasses—those worn, tortoiseshell ones I keep meaning to replace—and cranked up the volume on my car radio. The music morphed my car into a time capsule. I could see the teenage girls crammed into the back of my friend’s red Sunbird, laughing and singing along to cassettes, desperately trying to grasp the essence of adulthood.
Each note transported me back, lifting years off my shoulders. But as Taylor Swift’s familiar voice chimed in, the reality of motherhood returned—my little one humming along to her favorite songs. I realized the present is stuck between those two melodies. The days I’m waiting for—the ones where I’m thinner, less busy, and more focused—might never arrive. If I keep postponing joy for a future that may not come, I risk losing the very things I cherish.
My worn-out purse spills its contents every time I get in the car, waiting for the day I decide to invest in one with a proper zipper. Unwritten chapters linger in drafts, and I don’t want to let my beloved perfume fade away again. It might be time to embrace the beauty in my imperfect, everyday moments instead of saving them for some distant ideal.
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In summary, saving things for a perfect day can rob us of the joy found in the present. We should cherish the imperfect moments and embrace what brings us happiness now.