“Some people just can’t see that.”
“Even with all my thrilling fantasy football stories?”
She paused and turned to me. “Johnny, you spent 20 years trying to build an ideal future. Maybe it’s time to start living in the perfect present.”
Looking back, I see that Elise did me a favor with that bottle of floor cleaner.
Not because she was right about my appearance, but because she made me realize an important truth: there’s a distinction between letting oneself go and evolving into a new version of oneself.
These days, I still have my shiny head. But now I have someone who looks at me as if I’m the most fascinating person in the room.
Someone who relishes running with me on Sunday mornings and experimenting with new recipes on Wednesday nights. Someone who truly sees me.
And smiles.
Last week, while cleaning out my garage, Winona spotted that bottle of floor cleaner. She picked it up, read the note, and smiled.
“Should we keep it?”
I took it from her hands and tossed it into the trash. “Nah!
Some things aren’t meant to shine. They’re meant to grow.”
“What are you thinking about?”
I pulled her close, kissing the top of her head. “Just how sometimes the best things in life emerge from a bottle of floor cleaner.”
She laughed, and that warm sound made everything feel right.
“Well, your head is really shiny today.”
“Perfect for dancing,” I replied, pulling her into an unexpected waltz in our kitchen.
“You know what sets you apart from who you were before?”
“What’s that?”
“You notice things now. Like how I painted my nails green yesterday.”
I twirled her gently. “Mint green.
And you missed a spot on your pinky.”
She smiled, and I realized that sometimes losing everything is just the universe’s way of making space for something better. And something real.
