This Present Gift

Years ago my husband gave me a pedicure kit as a gift for my birthday.  It was a throwback of sorts to a simpler time in our lives when we lived in Southern California and I discovered the therapeutic power of a good pedicure.  I had never splurged on that sort of luxury before moving to the West Coast.  But when working long hours at an emotionally and physically stressful job required some sort of intentional respite for the sake of survival, pedicures would sometimes make it on my list of “must do’s” during my off time.  In those days I didn’t feel any guilt about the cost.  I felt like I was investing in my health – allowing myself to unwind and the tension in my body to ease as my tired feet soaked in warm, fragrant water and were later lathered up and smoothed out and massaged and painted by warm, healing hands.  Whenever I would exit the building of my foot spa experience, I would cherish the feeling of my soft feet and cute little painted toes peeking out of my casual flip flops in the perfectly warm, sunny air… a true California dream.

I wonder if that’s what my husband was thinking when he wrapped up my home pedicure kit – attractively packaged in blue – complete with a battery operated stone and brush feature along with aromatic scrubs and lotions.  I could treat myself to a pedicure whenever I wanted one.  It was such a thoughtful gift and I was very excited when I opened it.  I honestly loved it.  We were no longer living on the West Coast, but had become East Coast residents, subject to more dramatic swings in mood and weather.  And as the years went by, the kit remained packaged perfectly in blue, unused.

When he gave me this gift, we were in the midst of a highly stressful time.  We had a toddler.  My husband was working by day and taking graduate school classes by night, and I was trying to navigate my way through nursing school, working, and motherhood.  We were outgrowing our apartment – collecting more toys and contraptions for our newest family member than we could store.  Our space and our lives felt cluttered and overwhelming, and if ever the gift of a pedicure was necessary, it was then.

But somehow I let myself believe that the right time for me to sneak away and give my feet some necessary TLC would present itself.  I would find this perfectly calm, quiet moment to light some candles and soak my feet and listen to Otis Redding singing “Sitting on the dock of the bay,” while taking the different components of the kit out of the blue box, smiling, and basking in the gift of it all.  Not surprisingly, that moment never came.

What did come were questions from my husband about if I had used my pedicure kit yet.  Or if I even liked the gift.  Or why I hadn’t used it yet.  I often became defensive.  “Of course I like it!  It’s a wonderful gift!  Honestly.  But I have just been so busy that I haven’t had a chance to try it yet.  I will use it soon.”  And although I sincerely meant those things, the thought of trying to cram a block of time for relaxation into a schedule that was already busting at the seams and threatening to make me break seemed like more stress than I could handle.  When my son was napping or sleeping for the night, I felt like I should be studying or cleaning or sleeping myself.  When he was awake, I felt like I should be spending time with him.  I was in complete survival mode, yet I was barely taking care of myself.   Looking back, I am surprised by how much of my true self actually made it through those years.

Eventually that period of higher education, financial struggles, and small living quarters passed and we entered into the phase of new jobs, a second child, moving, and mortgage payments.  As we packed up our apartment to start settling into our new home, I watched my husband throw that perfectly packaged pedicure set into the trash along with a slew of other odds and ends that were busted or no longer needed.  I angrily pulled my gift out of the trash and said something like “this isn’t yours to throw away!  It’s mine and I want it!”  To which he muttered something about how I never used it.  Reflecting on that memory now, I think I finally understand the immense significance of that gift and what it said about him as the giver and about my inability to properly receive it.

My husband knew how stressful our lives were all those years ago and he wasn’t trying to give me one more thing to attend to.  He was trying to offer me something that could give me a necessary respite and some moments to tangibly enjoy.  I was living a checklist life, thinking that once all of my tasks were accomplished (which literally could never happen) then I could add “pedicure” to my list and thus enjoy it without feeling guilty.

Guilt has long been my enemy.  It has kept me from pursuing so many beautiful, fun, creative, spontaneous moments – convincing me that there are more important things to be doing in the moment that I can’t possibly neglect.  Like those clothes that just need to be folded right now and take precedence over playing pretend with the cute little girl vying for my attention.  Or the towering stack of papers (which have been there for months) that need to be organized at this moment instead of feeling the curves of my guitar in my hands and working the calluses back into my fingertips so that playing will become fun again and not painful.

My husband has given me many thoughtful gifts over the years, each requiring some sort of commitment on my end to truly be appreciated.  Books on writing and how to get published; ingredients and instruments needed for making soy candles; various glass bottles for mixing my own essential oil recipes; providing the man power (along with my brother) to drag a dangerously heavy piano (gifted to us from some dear friends who couldn’t take it with them) into our living room; books on learning to play the piano; the newly published book by Harper Lee that I want to read …  I appreciate that my husband tries to support whatever passions and whims I find myself dreaming about, gently encouraging me to pursue them by offering resources and tools for me to do so.  But for so long I have allowed guilt to hold me back from utilizing these gifts.  I am ready for that to change.  And not just because a new year is beginning, but because every new moment we are given holds the potential for positive change if we are willing to pursue it.

Maybe because my kids are older now this seems more feasible.  As we enter 2017, I feel like I finally have a more healthy perspective about self care and making the time to find enjoyment in life (after all, the time is now, right?  This very moment is all we really know we have for sure).  Along with my self-improvement goals and lofty ambitions about how I want to contribute toward making our world a better place this year, I also have the goal of rewarding myself every single day with blocks of time designated to doing things that are good for me and that I enjoy.

Perhaps it will be twenty minute blocks for now (because that seems attainable and in time will grow) –  twenty minutes to read whatever I am interested in that day; twenty minutes to practice on the piano; to indulge in a bubble bath or to call a friend; twenty minutes to exercise or paint or write.  I want my children to think back on their childhood with a clear understanding of what sorts of things their mother enjoyed because they saw her doing them often.  And I want my husband to know what a thoughtful gift giver he is, and that I will commit to enjoying his gifts in the present tense.  I think my new year may be starting with a pedicure.