You’re the Special Occasion.

Last night, Wade and I went to Walk on White, our monthly neighborhood gathering where businesses open their doors for wine, conversation, and a chance to see what’s new. We always stop at Shade Ceramics and Shutter Photography to admire their latest work, enjoy their artistry, and have a glass of wine. Supporting the arts is thirsty work.

Last year, we bought a beautiful bowl there, and the artist asked whether we actually use it. Absolutely. It’s on display, but it also earns its keep. He was delighted, then told us about a flowerpot he had made for someone in his family who won’t put a plant in it because it’s “too nice.”

Wade and I immediately looked at each other. His mother.

“Oh, I can’t use that candle. It’s tooooo nice.”

Please read that in the most lovingly exaggerated Minnesota accent you can imagine. Wade’s impression is excellent and had the shop owners laughing along with us. Anything his mother received for a holiday qualified as too nice to fulfill its intended purpose. Especially candles, which were welcome to be candles in theory, provided nobody did anything reckless like light them. And picture frames? Those stayed so faithfully untouched that we started naming the people in the stock photos and pretending they were family. Lovely people. Never once missed a Christmas, but they were lousy cooks.

We laughed telling the story. But the part that stayed with me came afterward. When she died, those lovely things were still tucked away in their boxes. Saved, protected, and never enjoyed.

For years, my personal Facebook profile has carried this quote: “Don’t save something for a special occasion. Every day of your life is a special occasion.”

I think about that when the temptation to save something creeps in. The pretty stationery, for example. Write the damn letter. Let someone you love open an envelope and find your handwriting, your ridiculous story, your reminder that they matter. That paper could become something they treasure instead of something you store.

My hospital bracelet said “Car on Pedestrian.”

I was the pedestrian. A few broken bones and some road rash later, I was still here, which seemed to surprise the doctors considerably. I was in my twenties, and I can tell you that your life really can flash before your eyes. It’s a hell of a way to acquire perspective, but the lesson sticks.

In the years that followed, I lost several friends to cancer. People in the prime of their lives, with stories still to tell, people still to love, and contributions to the world we will never get to know. Their lives weren’t finished. Their time was.

Experiences like those change how you hear the word “someday.” You start noticing how much life gets assigned to it. The trip we’ll take. The friend we’ll visit. The things we’ll enjoy when the timing is better.

Use the frequent flyer miles. They aren’t earning interest while you wait. Put a date on the visit, book the adventure, go make the story. There will always be laundry waiting when you get home.

We learned to save. Sometimes, we forgot to enjoy.

I understand where it comes from. Wade’s mother grew up on a farm during the Great Depression. In my family, money and resources were often scarce. When something beautiful came into your life, you protected it. You saved it for something important because you didn’t know when you might get another.

There can be love, fear, and a whole family history tucked inside the instruction to “put that away for company.” Sometimes we’re protecting something irreplaceable. Sometimes we’re following a rule we learned so long ago that we’ve never stopped to question it.

But the cashmere sweater isn’t being preserved for eternity. Wear it before the moths enjoy it first. Let it keep you warm on an ordinary afternoon. Whoever gave it to you probably hoped you’d feel wonderful wearing it, rather than become the curator of a very small sweater museum.

And sometimes, underneath all that saving, there’s another belief worth examining: We’ll use it when someone special comes over.

Someone special already lives there.

You.

Your dinner counts, even if it’s leftovers. Your quiet evening counts, even if nobody sees the candlelight. Use the fireplace. Yes, it gets dirty. An evening curled up in that warm glow, talking with someone you love or getting lost in a book, is worth a little soot. Enjoying your home is a perfectly good reason to create a mess you’ll have to clean tomorrow.

This is why we can’t have nice things!

We say it when a plate breaks, a glass tips over, or something beautiful gets stained. But what is the point of having nice things if the condition of ownership is that we never enjoy them?

Yes, candles burn down. China can chip. The silk nightie might rip. That truffle salt from the farmers market will eventually run out, which is a tragedy I am prepared to face with a very good plate of french fries.

And open the wine before you miss its moment. Unless you have something extraordinary tucked away, a seven-figure auction bid probably isn’t in that bottle’s future. You could spend years waiting for the perfect occasion, only to discover that your treasured wine has become a deeply disappointing salad dressing.

Meanwhile, the things we’re protecting can melt in the attic, spoil in the pantry, or disappear so thoroughly into a cupboard that we forget we own them. Sometimes, they wait until someone who loves us has the heartbreaking job of opening all those untouched boxes after we’re gone.

A little morbid? Yes. But none of us gets out of here alive. Burn the damn candle that smells like vacation.

Some things deserve a second act.

Take the wedding tiara. It had one glorious day, and now it’s supposed to spend the rest of its existence in a box? Break it out, queen. Wear it during your commute so people know who they’re dealing with. If you’re going to sit in traffic, you might as well bring a little majesty to the situation.

As the accompanying photo suggests, I am willing to lead by example.

Will someone think you’re ridiculous? Possibly. Will someone smile? Probably. Could it turn an ordinary morning into a story you and your friends tell for years? Absolutely. There are worse uses for a tiara.

The bowl becomes part of your life when you pass it around the table. The fireplace becomes the backdrop to a long conversation. The stationery carries a friendship across the miles. These things can help us make memories, but we have to let them out of their boxes first.

Your assignment, Merrymakers.

This week, choose one thing you’ve been saving for a special occasion and use it. Give it a role in the life you’re actually living, with its leftovers, errands, imperfect timing, and perfectly good reasons to celebrate.

Then tell us in the comments: What are you finally going to use, and what have you been saving it for? Bonus points for photographic evidence. Especially if there’s a tiara involved.

Make the everyday a special occasion. You deserve to be there for the good stuff.

Her majesty has errands to run

This wedding tiara didn’t sign up for a lifetime in a box. Break out the good things, queen. You’re the special occasion. 👑