How To Enjoy A 50K — Step 10: Use The Good Shampoo
Yesterday in the shower I had a mini-epiphany. I’ve been saving (read : hoarding) my good shampoo since the early days of the pandemic. I’ve been settling for a brand that I don’t really like, that makes my hair just sort of fall in a greasy blah way, while saving the brand I love for some unknown day in the future when I will once again give a shit what I look and feel like.
I can’t be the only one doing something so preposterously odd like that. Whadda ya guys got? I’m serious, tell me what weird things you’ve found yourself doing this year that may be the result of our aimless, confused wandering through this extraordinarily weird time. Is there anything you’re saving for an uncertain future?
At the point of said mini-epiphany I had already washed and conditioned my hair with the dull, unflattering product but all of a sudden I’d had enough. Enough with the not caring about how I look and feel. Enough with the blase approach to my day. Enough with the sweat pants and ponytails and waiting for a special moment that for all we know could still be months away.
I’m not one for fancy clothes but dammit when I’m awake and alive and happy . . . I care about my hair! So I climbed out of the shower with the water still raining down and I reached into the closet for the good shampoo. I washed my hair again. I conditioned the ever-living-shit out of it and later when it was dry and silky and it cascaded wistfully around my shoulders just the way I like it . . . I felt happy.
And here’s a thing about life: When we feel happy we notice the serendipitously delightful things happening around us. They’re always there—the serendipitous—always happening, but we fail to notice them when we’re lost or depressed or sad.
When we’re happy we can drive an hour and a half with our mom and our puppy to the PODs storage space in Marlboro, NY in a vain attempt to dig out our old MacBook—the one our sister gave us years ago that has scraps of old novel bits buried in it and a few of the programs we use for work. We can slide open the door to the massive 8′ X 16′ unit stacked with furniture, bicycle parts, mirrors, plant stands, and more than thirty unlabeled boxes full of who knows what. We can look at this ridiculous amount of stuff—more stuff than we have ever owned in our life—having absolutely no idea where to begin because we have no clue which box we put the laptop in when we packed it two months ago and of course most of the boxes are in the way, way back behind the sofa and the mattress and the desk and the lamps . . .
We can look at this sea of crap which just yesterday we wanted to torch to ashes in a bonfire effigy of Screw You World proportions. Then we can pick up a random box, any random box, maybe the one closest to the door under the rebounder. We can tear at the tape with our car key because obviously we forgot to bring a box cutter and then we can find the laptop in the very first spot we look.
(My mom is my witness.)
All the love 💛 and all the light 💡 from a woman who’s starting to feel sane again, in part due to the gorgeous bouquet of flowers (above) that she received from her sister today.