At some point you realize you’ve been saving things for a special occasion while life has been quietly using up the occasions.
We’re weird like that.
The good whiskey.
The expensive shirt.
Granddad’s watch.
The guitar you don’t want scratched.
The dishes nobody is apparently important enough to eat off.
The vacation you’ll take when things settle down.
The phone call you’ll make when you have more time.
The words you’ll say when the moment is right.
We save everything.
For later.
As if later signed a contract.
Gen X should probably know better.
We grew up being told to rewind the damn videotape because somebody else was waiting for it.
Nothing lasts forever.
😂
I’ve become less interested in preserving things perfectly and more interested in giving them a life.
Wear the watch.
Play the guitar.
Drive the car.
Open the bottle.
Take the picture even though your hair looks like hell.
Tell your friend you love him.
Sit with your mother.
Listen to the kid tell the ridiculously long story.
Kiss your wife in the kitchen.
Use the damn dishes.
Because someday somebody may inherit the things you protected.
But they can’t inherit the Tuesday night you could have spent together.
That’s the part nobody tells you.
We spend years protecting objects from life—
when the marks life leaves on them are often what eventually makes them priceless.
The scratched watch.
The faded photograph.
The guitar worn smooth where your hand rested.
The table with dents from family dinners.
Those aren’t damages.
They’re receipts.
Proof that something was here.
Proof that you were here.
Faith has made me increasingly aware that tomorrow is something I can hope for, plan for, prepare for—
but never own.
So I’m keeping some things for later.
Retirement money?
Absolutely.
Emergency supplies?
Hell yes.
The good bourbon until Friday?
Let’s not become animals.
😂
But life?
I’m trying not to save too much of that.
USE THE GOOD STUFF.
You are already living the special occasion.
SAINT DIRTY FACE™
Imperfect on Purpose. Faithful with Fangs.
