Today I added “spa time” to my schedule. Nothing fancy, just an hour of “me” time on Sundays where I mix up a sugar and coconut oil scrub for my face, soak my feet, and read a book for an hour. Spa day, writ small. I’m thinking of adding painting my nails to that, because there are about a billion articles on the internet about how that activity dramatically reduces anxiety. I haven’t found a nail polish color I like, though.
I used to love taking long baths, but bathtubs aren’t a thing in Finland. Every apartment has a shower, and every building has a sauna. It’s purely sauna culture here, in lieu of a good soak. Unfortunately, heat makes my arthritis flair up. Sauna leaves me in ridiculous amounts of pain. It’s also why I don’t like hot weather. Most people don’t understand, because they think you’re supposed to apply heat to all aches and pains. With a tub, I can control the temperature so it’s comfortably warm by my own standards.
My other joy today was getting to chat briefly with my favorite YouTuber. A brief and superficial exchange, sure, but it was cool to connect with someone that has brought me some distraction from the horrors of the world. Take every bit of happiness and each fleeting moment of human connection that you can get.
It’s My Spa Day and I’ll Do What I Want To
Here’s the thing: I’m done being self-conscious about these sorts of things. Make fun of me for painting my nails, for having a moment with someone whose followers are probably mostly teenaged girls, for having a spa day. I’m over it. No one gets to tell me how I can and cannot find some joy in life. There are far more important things to worry about. All I’m looking for is a little respite so I have the strength to deal with all of the grown up, real world atrocity.