Recently, I found myself in tears over a bottle of perfume. On one of those rare days when I decided to treat myself, I reached for a fragrance tucked away near my jewelry box instead of the one I use daily from my dresser. That familiar scent, which I spritz on without hesitation, always brings a smile to my morning routine.
The perfume near my jewelry box, however, is a different story. It carries the essence of my wedding day, making me feel youthful and beautiful, but when I finally opened it, I was met with a jarring reminder: time had ruined it. The beloved notes I cherished had melded into a discordant mess, a casualty of neglect. I realized that my hesitation to enjoy the finer things had resulted in loss; it was time to discard the bottle along with other forgotten items.
I am someone who believes in decluttering. I don’t hoard money, broken toys, or old clothes. I actively clear out closets and decorations. But when it comes to certain pleasures, I find myself holding back. I wait to wear my favorite perfume or to indulge in that luxurious body lotion. I tell myself I’ll buy new jeans once I shed some pounds or cut my hair when I feel more accomplished. I postpone home manicures until I stop biting my cuticles, and I dream of buying a leather purse when I finally feel like an adult.
I often tell myself I’ll start writing the novel trapped in my mind when both kids are in school. I’ll add pink streaks to my hair after publishing my next story collection, and I keep my college pajamas because I feel like I need to achieve something first.
On the day I discovered my ruined perfume, I drove alone to grab cupcakes under the bright Michigan sun. I slipped on my sunglasses, the ones with peeling edges, and turned up the music to a volume that would be unbearable with little ones in the back seat. As I drove, the dry heat warmed my skin, allowing me to fantasize about spring’s arrival.
A familiar song, “Hey Jealousy” by the Gin Blossoms, played, and suddenly my car transformed into a time machine. I was transported back to youthful days spent crammed in a friend’s car, pressing rewind on cassettes and feeling invincible. I cranked the volume, relishing the nostalgia as the lyrics flowed from my lips, momentarily lifting the burdens of adulthood.
Then Taylor Swift’s voice filled the car, pulling me back to reality with my daughter’s own rendition of her favorite artist. The present lies between those two songs. The days I wait for—the ones where I’m thinner, less busy, more focused—may never arrive. I might never have the life I believe is worthy of the things I’m saving.
By holding onto my dreams and desires for a “perfect” day, I risk letting them slip away. My worn purse spills its contents onto the car floor daily while I continue to wait for the right time. I realize I don’t want to discard my favorite perfume again. It’s time to embrace the beauty of these imperfect days instead of waiting for an ideal moment.
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Summary
Holding onto cherished items and experiences often leads to missed opportunities. Instead of waiting for a perfect day to indulge in life’s pleasures, we should embrace the present and celebrate our imperfect moments.