The girl at the nail salon just shook her head at me when I insisted on this polish. She tried and tried to explain that it was clear (“But, that’s what I want,” I told her), and she went to the rack to bring back several bottles of colored polish each bolder than the next.
I am not a bold person. I do not even consider myself a very sparkly person, in terms of glitter and baubles; I could only be considered sparkly in wanting to make people laugh.
Plus, my hands are a bit wrinkly, and I don’t want to draw attention to unfavorable bits. I mean, there’s a lot I like about them such as they cook beautiful meals and hold wonderful books, but they aren’t a thing of beauty in and of themselves.
But, as I was lying here reading La Regenta (which I now love by the way, thank you very much, Tom) and looking at my hands, I was reminded of how important it is to choose what it is that we want, to not be persuaded into someone else’s point of view because it’s accepted. Or, typical. Or, what everyone else does. Generally, I don’t like what everyone else does. I don’t read what everyone else does, I don’t look like everyone else does, and I certainly don’t think like everyone else does.
How long has it taken to accept my own self? To leave the shop with the girl shaking her head and not care one whit? As long as I am loving and kind, building up my fellow man, I don’t see anything wrong in claiming my own way.
In fact, I am finally learning to embrace it.