No more crappy razors
I hate New Year’s resolutions. So much pressure. So much self-imposed anxiety. So much self-loathing and imaginary judgment from everyone else when the new habit reverts to the old habit. It’s just too much. If I’m going to change my behavior, my preference is to do it all stealth, on my own timetable, and not announce my plans to anyone. Then, if I fall off the wagon, no one’s the wiser, and if I succeed beyond my wildest dreams, then by the time people notice, I just look like a badass, and I can take a humble bow and go on.
So I typically don’t even mess with New Year’s resolutions. I give thanks for the people I love, I send some good thoughts out into the world, and I get on about my business. Simple, safe, no muss, no fuss.
This year, though, I’m making one resolution. I’ve finally hit on something simple enough that I think I can do it without stressing myself the heck out. It will improve my quality of life, and is, like most things I consider important in my world, about more than it seems to be about.
In 2013, I’m not buying any more crappy razors.
You know the ones I’m talking about? The featherweight pink disposables with hollow handles and a single blade, set at the precise angle needed to flay the skin from your entire ankle without removing a single hair? The yellow or blue disposables you get after you ruin three towels with the pink ones, which have two blades and maybe a strip of slime at the top, and they don’t slice your leg open, but they don’t slice anything else either? Or the non-disposables marketed to women, with the sexy brand names and curvy handles and matching shaving cream gel stuff and mail-in rebates, which still somehow only manage to lop off half a hair at a time?
I am so done with this entire cast of shady razor characters.
Part of this is because I’m still nursing the two sliced-open knees I received the weekend before Christmas at the evil hands of the egregious pink razor. Part of it is totally literal. Because slicing open your leg in soapy water stings like some things that would cause my family to stop reading my blog if I wrote them down, and because I know all of y’all reading who are of a leg-shaving persuasion totally know what I mean about the towels, and because kneeling to wrap Christmas presents is not cool with big scabs on your knees.
The other part, though, is that sometimes a cigar is not just a cigar. Taking care of myself is something I have not been a real champ at in my adult life, frankly, and I’ve finally started to get a handle on all the ways I short myself and pretend it’s something noble or helpful. I’m taking inventory of the little things I do that indicate that I’m not consciously trying to look out for my own best interests. I can’t change them all in one go, but I can decide, in little ways day by day, to be more aware and do a better job of being decent to myself, being kind, and not withholding good things from myself because I think it’s not justified or I’m somehow not worth it.
I am totally worth a decent razor. And other good things in my life that only I can give myself permission to take hold of. I’m working on those and will be working on them for a while, little by little. Right now, though, what I can handle is making sure I buy myself some razors that don’t suck. And every time I bite the bullet of paying for them, I’ll remember that taking care of myself is worth the short-term cost. When I shave and don’t injure myself and dry off and keep the towel white, I’ll remember the payoff of investing in myself.
Crappy pink razors, begone. 2013 will be my year.