You know these busy lives we lead, where most things feel unfinished and many things overwhelm us? We want to do it all, and for a while we will try, but eventually we have to make room for what really matters and weed out what’s “nice” but less essential.
This might mean embracing the piles of clean laundry that never make it from the couch to the closet before being picked up and worn again, because really – it’s the worst chore ever.
Or it might mean you eat take out for dinner and don’t feel bad about it, because it means less stress and more time with your family. And no dishes!
Maybe you forgo cleaning the kitchen floor, even when you walk on it barefoot and things stick to your feet, because when you mop it the cleanliness lasts for approximately three hours before you can no longer prove it ever occurred.
Sacrificing and prioritizing is ok. Motherhood has slapped me in the face with this a time or two this past year. We all do it and then pretend that we don’t, and then admit it and make fun of ourselves, but that’s a complicated process so I am here to tell you that we don’t need to feel bad about our choices. The more time we spend chasing the illusion that things should be a certain way, the more we wind up going in circles and overlooking some awesome stuff in our lives.
But what does that have to do with my nails?
For the most part, I try to make myself presentable. I bathe regularly, despite hating the process, and when I go to work or appear in public I dabble in the whole hair and makeup thing (I use the term dabble loosely here). But despite it all, I realized long ago that I was never going to be one of those women who had nice nails. Never ever. Not because I don’t like how nice nails looks – they are lovely – they seem so fancy and professional and a general indicator of being put together. But it’s just never going to be my thing. Especially with a toddler.
Manicured nails, or gel nails or ‘tips’ (I no idea what those even are) all sound divine, but they are not for me. And at 32, I’m ok owning that.
Instead of feeling bad when I see other ladies with perfectly shaped and painted nails, self-consciously curling my own fingers to hide my own plain-jane fingertips and lack of lacquer, I realized I really don’t care anymore. It’s eerily freeing to stop giving a damn about things that are trivial. Take my fingers as they are!
I sacrifice my nails. I’ll save the $30 a month and time breathing in fumes and I’ll use it for something equally unproductive, but more fitting for me.
Like the baseball player who sacrifice bunts to let a teammate advance, I will go back to the unmanicured dugout and let the polished ladies stay on base.