I have a shirt in my closet that I love.

It fits just right. I love the color. Every time I put it on, I feel good in it.

Which, apparently, is exactly why I hardly ever wear it.

I save it.

For dinner out.
For a trip.
For a day when I might see someone.
For something that feels worthy of the good shirt.

And I don’t think I’m alone.

We save the expensive candle because we don’t want to burn through it.

We tuck the pretty napkins into a drawer because they’re too nice for a Tuesday night.

We keep the good bottle of lotion in the bathroom cabinet while we use up the one we don’t really like.

We buy the shoes we love and then reach for the old ones because we don’t want to scuff the new pair.

We save recipes for company.

We save the pretty dishes for holidays.

We save the good wine, the fancy soap, the new pajamas, the beautiful notebook.

Somewhere along the way, we decided that the things we love most should be used the least.

And lately I’ve been wondering:

What exactly are we saving them for?

I understand how it happens.

There is something lovely about anticipation. About having something special tucked away for someday.

But I wonder how many ordinary days we’ve accidentally decided weren’t quite special enough.

Because the truth is, most of our lives aren’t made up of special occasions.

They’re made up of Tuesdays.

They’re made up of making coffee before anyone else is awake and standing at the kitchen counter eating lunch.

They’re grocery store runs and loads of laundry and dinners we’ve made a hundred times.

They’re sitting on the porch for ten minutes before going inside.

They’re driving to pick up someone we love.

They’re folding towels.

They’re working at our desks.

They’re making dinner when we don’t particularly feel like making dinner.

This is where most of our life happens.

And for years, I think I treated those days like the space between the important ones.

Get through the week so we can enjoy the weekend.

Get through winter so we can enjoy summer.

Save the dress for the vacation.

Save the recipe for company.

Save the candle for when the house is clean.

Save the good dishes for when everyone is here.

Wait.

Wait.

Wait.

But I’m 50 now.

And one thing I’m beginning to understand is that someday isn’t nearly as interesting to me as it used to be.

Today is.

Not because every day is extraordinary.

Most aren’t.

But because I’ve lived enough ordinary days now to realize how extraordinary they eventually become.

There were years when dinner around our table was completely ordinary. Kids talking over each other. Someone not liking what I made. Milk spilled. Homework waiting.

I didn’t know those dinners would end.

There were mornings when shoes were missing and we were running late and I probably would have happily skipped right over that season if someone had offered.

Now I’d give almost anything to walk through one of those noisy mornings again.

That’s the strange thing about life.

We rarely know we’re living in the good old days while we’re in them.

Which makes me wonder why we keep saving the good things for later.

So I’m trying something different.

I’m wearing the shirt.

I’m lighting the candle at 2:00 in the afternoon.

I’m using the pretty bowl for my yogurt.

I’m making the recipe even if nobody is coming over.

I’m putting flowers on the table even though we’re eating leftovers.

I’m opening the new notebook before I’ve completely filled the old one.

I’m using things up.

And I know that sounds small.

Maybe even a little silly.

But I don’t think it’s really about the candle.

I think it’s about giving ourselves permission to enjoy our own lives while we’re living them.

We are so good at creating special moments for other people.

We make the birthday cake.

Set the holiday table.

Buy the gift.

Plan the dinner.

Pull out the good towels when guests are coming.

We know how to make other people feel celebrated.

Maybe we could do a little more of that for ourselves.

Not in some grand, life-changing way.

Just by deciding that a random Wednesday is worthy of the good coffee.

That dinner with the people who sit at our table every night is worthy of the pretty plates.

That our own skin is worthy of the expensive lotion.

That a quiet evening at home is worthy of the pajamas we love.

That we don’t have to earn beautiful things with a special enough occasion.

Because maybe we’ve had it backwards.

Maybe using the good things doesn’t make them less special.

Maybe it makes an ordinary day a little more special.

Of course the candle will eventually burn down.

The shirt will fade.

The dishes might chip.

The perfume bottle will become empty.

But isn’t that what they were made for?

To be worn.

To be burned.

To be eaten from.

To be enjoyed.

To become part of a life instead of something we kept safely tucked away from it.

I don’t want to get to the end of my life with a closet full of things I was saving.

I want faded shirts that I loved wearing.

Candles burned all the way to the bottom.

Recipes stained from being made again and again.

Dishes with a chip or two because they sat on a table surrounded by people I love.

I want the things I love to look like they were part of my life.

And maybe that’s what I’m learning at 50.

The special occasion I’ve been waiting for has been happening all along.

It’s today.

Sweet Wishes,

June

Come Gather With Me

If this story felt familiar, I’d love to have you join me. Gathered is my Sunday note about food, family, memories, and finding something meaningful in the ordinary moments of life.

Pull up a chair. There’s a place for you here. 🤍