Jewelry and Nail Polish as Hopes and Fears

Certain little things are big things to me; the jewelry I wear and the color of my nail polish always mean something. Facebook reminded me of a blog post I wrote two years ago today regarding the significance of my jewelry; I didn't read it again, because I remembered the events of the night that prompted it. I was thinking about it, though, as I repainted my nails tonight. I painted them at the beginning of last week, using what I consider my 'signature' shade of pink, but a softer, baby pink and I was aware that the quieter shade than my usual was indicative of an excitement I was trying to keep somewhat tempered. Wear the color that gives me confidence, but keep it low-key.

Fear.

My nails and my jewelry (rings, specifically) are little big details to me because I see my hands all the time; on a steering wheel, on a keyboard, or holding a pen on a piece of paper. Seeing something that means something positive to me, or just seeing something shiny or sparkly makes me happy and can keep certain thoughts always at the front of my mind. In some ways, they even mean more to me than my hair (if you can believe that – but then, my hair is more of a crown and shield. Different purpose.)

I do my own nails, not just to avoid an added expense but because I find the act of painting my nails somewhat therapeutic. I also realize that if I’m painting them for a certain event my mood will not only choose the color, but will control my thoughts of that event while I’m painting them.

One of the most frustrating things for me is when I need to re-do my nails and can’t decide on the color. On those days, I’m probably better spending quiet time alone.

I have a habit of playing mind games with myself; it’s a measure of defense against the games my mind plays with me. I’m a writer; I can come up with a dozen scenarios for one situation without thinking, and a dozen more in the first five minutes I choose to think about it.

So the act of painting my nails becomes a conscious mind game, and what happens after becomes the game my mind plays with me. By after, I mean how well the manicure is maintained - or not. If I’ve manicured for an event that falls flat, I do not maintain it. I torture myself by watching the color get dull and chip – remember, I like seeing them shiny and polished. And then realize I’m not ready to accept/admit maybe some dashed hopes or disappointment, because as much as I say it’s time to redo them I hesitate – and it’s probably because I don’t want to let something go because when I do take the color off that physical act becomes the embodiment of my feelings. I guess it’s like erasing something written; the act of erasing is the physical acknowledgment of a mistake.

Hey, it makes sense to me.

The reminder of the blog post brought up associated feelings, because the jewelry and nails have similar significance for me.

And, wow, I just gave away that the condition of my nails is indicative of my sense of my life. Who needs a ‘tell’?

I mentioned fear earlier, because that particular idea slapped me in the face that night last week I painted my nails, and then the other day when I got a kick in the ass after listening to an audiobook that forced me to recognize how I do react out of fear in certain circumstances.

Oh, I hate to admit that.

Our family stalker sent packages to my house addressed to me and each of my daughters the other day – nothing big; copies of Mackenzie Phillips’ memoir, in what I’m sure was a perverted idea of an intervention of sorts for all the issues we are presumed to have. Do you know what bothered me the most about that? The fact that my 13-year-old saw them first. She saw a package with her name on it and got excited (I’m glad something made me look at the package first). She got excited about receiving a package and then disappointed that it wasn’t ‘a package’ for her.

Dashed hopes.

Sometimes I think that that is one of the worst feelings to experience or witness (especially in a child). Remember that kind of excitement? I still get that way when I receive a package in the mail.

And then, I’m reminded of something my father used to say all the time: when you don’t expect anything you are never disappointed.

Then, the idea of the differences between hope and expectation arises. Are they the same? I guess if the reaction is the same to dashed hope and disappointed expectation, they are, aren’t they? How much does fear play into the hopes?

I finally redid my nails tonight. The torture had gone on long enough. The color I chose? The same color I chose last week when I was in active anticipation of something. This time, though, the quiet pink was to maintain the idea of general positive hope that’s muted not out of fear but of quiet reflection and knowledge of lessons learned – with an added topcoat of sparkle that says, “I’m still here.”

This may seem like a rather convoluted set of unconnected events, but it does all tie together a theme for me that’s been rather pervasive and rather thought-provoking this past week. And I do understand the meaning of 'it all’ – much in the same way my looking up on Amazon the synopsis of the book I received in the mail (sent with negative intent) led me to another book that I purchased and read today with a positive outcome.

Do I have too much time on my hands? Hard to say; this all came to me when I was painting my nails.

Does it matter? I'm the only one who has to 'get' me.