Recently, I found myself tearing up over a bottle of perfume. On one of those rare occasions when I decided to treat myself, I reached for the fragrance that usually sits next to my jewelry box, rather than the one I spritz on daily from my dresser. The latter is my go-to, enveloping me in a cheerful aura every morning.
However, the perfume by my jewelry box holds a deeper significance—it’s the scent I wore on my wedding day. Just a whiff transports me back to that moment, making me feel rejuvenated, youthful, and almost radiant. But when I finally uncapped it, I was met with an unpleasant surprise. The beautiful notes I once adored were now a jarring clash, ruined by the passage of time. I realized I had let too many special occasions slip by, and now, like the used cotton balls and tissues I discard without a second thought, my cherished fragrance would have to be thrown out.
I tend to save things—though not in the conventional sense. Money? Not really, much to my husband’s chagrin. Broken toys or outgrown clothes? I’m quick to clear those out. Yet, when it comes to the things I truly love, I hesitate.
I hold off on wearing my favorite perfume or indulging in the body lotion that makes me feel fabulous. I keep telling myself I’ll buy new jeans when I shed those extra pounds or that I’ll get my hair cut into a stylish bob once I reach a certain goal. I plan to start doing my own manicures when I finally stop chewing on my cuticles, and I promise to invest in a quality leather purse when I finally feel like an adult.
Even my creative aspirations are on hold until the kids are both in school, as if I need to wait for an ideal moment to write the novel swirling in my mind. I’ll dye my hair pink once I publish my next collection of short stories, and those threadbare pajamas from college? They’ll be retired once I achieve some undefined milestone.
That day, as I drove alone to pick up cupcakes under the bright Michigan winter sun, I donned my peeling tortoiseshell sunglasses—the ones I promise to replace one day. I cranked up the music, letting the tunes of my youth echo through the car. Suddenly, the car transformed into a nostalgic time machine, flooding me with memories of crammed backseats and carefree days.
As I sang along to “Hey Jealousy” by the Gin Blossoms, I felt a weight lift off my shoulders. But then, when a Taylor Swift song came on, I was jolted back to reality, reminded of my daughter’s love for the same artist. It struck me: the days I’m waiting for—where I’m thinner, less busy, and more focused—may never come. I might never attain the life I’ve been saving my favorite things for.
By keeping my dreams and desires on hold for some perfect day in the future, I risk letting them fade away. My broken purse spills out its contents daily, yearning for the moment I’ll transfer my essentials to a more functional bag. Meanwhile, unedited drafts of my writing sit untouched, and I realize I can’t afford to lose my favorite perfume again.
So, while I’ve been saving things for some ideal future, perhaps it’s time I start embracing the beauty of these imperfect middle days. After all, life is happening now, and maybe it’s worth celebrating, just the way it is.
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In summary, it’s easy to get caught up in saving things for a someday that may never come. Instead, we should embrace today and make the most of the imperfect moments life offers us.
Keyphrase: Why Holding Onto Things Is Overrated
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