$15 Buys You Flowers, But It’s Not Self Love

That requires a hell of a lot more than fifteen bucks.

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Photo by Annie Spratt via Unsplash

There are two days I love: the day after Valentine’s Day and the day after Mother’s Day. These days, I head to the grocery store and the bin where they move all the flowers that didn’t sell the day before.

Today, I spent $15 and walked out with my arms full. But, I don’t think my arms were what I was trying to fill.

There are few things I love more than fresh cut flowers. They exist for no other reason that to elicit joy. They are past their prime and have done their functional and scientific duty to the world. They spend their days in grocery stores, flower shops and farmer’s markets. Their duty now is to make everyday places just a bit more beautiful.

I buy them regularly as an act of self love. At least, that’s what I tell myself.

I’d like to say I did this with great joy and mindfulness, but I’d be lying if I did. I didn’t even stop halfway through to flip over the Amanda Shires record I was playing. I hadn’t even noticed it stopped. I don’t pay much attention to anything these days. It’s a problem.

I feel like I’ve become an inherently lazy person. I don’t mean to be, but somewhere I think I gave up. Something inside me just stopped feeling like it was worth it. Whatever “it” is.

I wasn’t always like this. I don’t know what happened but I suspect it was a culmination of a lot of things. Things that can’t be undone or relived.

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Photo by chuttersnap via Unsplash

Self love and self care are noble pursuits. Turns out I can fake that pretty well, too. I do small acts for myself but it’s a weird going through of the motions. I draw baths. I cook good meals. I listen to music. All absentmindedly. Then, I call it day and feel no better in the morning.

If there’s one intention you shouldn’t half ass, it’s self love. To put a fine point on it, I can do better.

I’ve tried to feel good about the world but it’s not happening. The only thing I’m feeling is a whole lot of nothing.

That nothing can’t be filled with an armload of flowers. It needs more. It needs me to give it actual attention. It’s tugging on my skirt.

I want to be that kid. I want to treat my life like that page. I need to bring feeling back into my life. It’s where the color comes from.

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Photo by Artem Maltsev via Unsplash

I’m not much different than cut flowers. I’ve done my duty in a lot of ways. I’ve brought an extraordinary human into this world. I’ve made and spent enough money in vain to help boost the economy. I’ve kept a house from burning down for 12 years. Accomplishments in their own right.

What I need to do now is turn my purpose in this world into something different. Bigger. Making everyday places just a bit more beautiful. If I don’t do this, I’ll end up past my prime.

This is going to require effort because I have no idea what I’m doing. Maybe letting go of expectations that I would is the first thing to do. Who knows. It’s mine to figure out.

You see it change. It’s evolves from dust and weeds to something soft and comfortable. I can’t think of a better place to start.

Written by

Flaming pinball, nerd, music lover, wine snob, horrible violin player. No, I won’t stop taking pictures of my drinks. vanessaltorre@gmail.com IG: vanessaltorre

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