The Power of Pomade

When I was 18 and first out on my own, shopping was an exhilarating experience, flush with possibilities. I felt that I was almost — but not quite — cool, and that all I needed to tip me over the edge to coolness was the perfect pair of shoes. And possibly the right jacket.

I was certain — in the way that only the young can be — that if I could put together the perfect outfits, all of my insecurities would — "poof!" — disappear. I’d feel how I imagined the models in Teen magazine felt: totally at ease with themselves, able to throw on any outfit — with those perfect shoes and that awesome jacket — and look and feel fabulous.

And I did feel pretty suave in the brown distressed-leather bomber jacket I bought with my student loan money. It had an aviation patch over the left chest and a satin lining printed with little fighter planes. I mean, seriously — who wouldn't look cool in that?

Did all my insecurities go away? No. But that’s probably just because I never found the right pair of shoes.

As I’ve gotten older and wiser, I aspire to get joy from life experiences instead of consumer goods. Being cool is less important than it was, and I realize that quality of life comes from a deeper place than my pocketbook.

But occasionally I am hit with the familiar feeling that a certain purchase may hold some great power to transform me.

Take, for instance, hair product.

After a haircut, I always leave feeling a little more awesome than when I came in, especially if I walk out with a new jar of pomade or bottle of spray gel.

Before I’ve actually tried the new hair product, I am filled with hope and optimism: the whole world is open to me. This new hair product may be the secret ingredient for a hipper, funkier, sassier me.

That is, of course, before the post-new-hair-product letdown. Before I realize that by the end of the day, the pomade makes my hair feel like dirty dog fur or that the spray gel creates a helmet-like crust on my hair similar to that chocolate sauce my parents would never buy me when I was a kid that hardened over ice cream like a magic shell.

After my real-life experience with that oh-so-full-of-potential hair product, of course, I’m back to being my usual not-quite-cool-but-mostly-ok-with-it self.

But then, last fall, as I was browsing my usual neighborhood discount store when I should have been working, I glanced at a display and gasped.

Those boots!

They were casual, yet a tiny bit funky. They were just the perfect mix of greyish and brownish. They were priced just low enough. I tried to remain calm as I scanned for my size. Oooh! There it was! I held my breath as I put my extremely picky feet into the boots.

They. Were. Perfect!

I snatched them and ran to the checkout counter, filled with a rush of hope. These were the ones. These would change everything.

I wore them almost every day last fall, winter and spring. I wore them to play in the park. I wore them to business meetings. I wore them out on the town. (I would wear them on a train. I would wear them in the rain. I do like them, Sam I am!)

And you know what? Yes! Those boots did what years of self-exploration could not. I became cool. It was so simple. All I needed, all this time, were those freaking boots.

Tattoos, Triathlons and Tango Lessons

What do these things have in common: hiking the Applachian Trail, moving to an island, getting a tattoo, training for a triathlon or marathon or long-distance bike ride, taking tango or salsa or drum or guitar lessons, hiring a fashion consultant or personal trainer, taking a year - or more! - off work to travel, buying a boat or motorcycle or sportscar or RV, finding religion or meditation or yoga, going back to school, joining a choir, donning a kilt and tossing cabers in Scottish Highland games, and starting a blog?

They are all somebody's answer to the question: What's next?

We spend our lives looking forward to what's ahead. My son just turned four and he already wants to know when he'll be five. As a child I couldn't wait for my next birthday - oh, how I longed to be one year older. When I was excitedly looking forward to turning 13, my father told me that I should never say that I can't wait for something, because I'm just wishing the time away between now and the thing I can't wait for. And that in-between time is passing either way, so I might as well enjoy it as it goes.

Even when we aren't giddily squealing "I can't wait," we still measure our lives by milestones. Whether it's getting our driver's license, graduating from high school, going to college, getting one degree or another, traveling abroad, starting and advancing a career, buying a home, getting married or having children, there is an underlying awareness of what's next.

But what happens when we reach the end of our personal list of milestones? Or what if one of our milestones is on hold or seems unreachable?

What's next?

We find something that makes us feel alive or sexy or strong. We find a goal we can strive toward. We've been students and workers, we've been travelers. We may be spouses and/or a parents. But is that everything?

Personally, as a parent, I need more in my future than my children's milestones. I want to have something to look forward to beyond my son getting his driver's license or my daughter's first date. (Please excuse me for just a moment while I pick myself up from the floor after briefly visualizing those two milestones.)

So, I ask, what's next for me?

Not having an answer to "what's next?" brings my own mortality uncomfortably to mind. Retirement sounds wonderful and all, but I would really prefer to have something on my milestone list between now and snowbirding in Arizona or Mexico.

So I'm looking through the local event calendar for biking and running events to train for this summer. I'm pricing sailboats. I saw a personal trainer yesterday to set up a strength-training routine. And yes, I started a blog.

But if my dad was right - and I think he was - then I also need to appreciate this very moment that I'm living now. Sure, there's more out there, and I'm excited to continue to create new milestones. But it's also valuable to slow down and acknowledge the life we've created and the people we've become. Then maybe we can settle into ourselves a little and enjoy where we are. After all, this - right now - is what's really next.