STOP SAVING THE GOOD STUFF

My birthday is coming up, and as usual, I am excited. Anyone who knows me knows I get excited about most things—especially my born day. I believe birthdays should be celebrated with delicious cake, a fabulous outfit (maybe with a little leopard), a nice dinner and just enough attention to remind everybody that God is the absolute head of my life. Birthdays also have a way of making you think. Sometimes the thought is deep. Other times it is simply, "Didn't I just have a birthday last year? We're doing this again already?" Apparently, yes. Every single year, if we are blessed—and I plan to keep showing up for mine.

Lately, I have been thinking about how much we save for later: the good dishes, the expensive perfume, the new outfit, the elegant tablecloth, and the candle that smells so wonderful we refuse to light it. We say we are waiting for a special occasion as though the Queen of England might ring the doorbell. Since she is no longer coming, ladies, we need a new plan. Here is the newsflash: you are the special occasion. You are the queen.

Did you grow up in a house where you were not allowed to sit in the living room—or, as many of us called it, the "front room"? That room was not for living. It was a museum with lamps. The furniture sat under plastic covers, protected from children, company, fingerprints, oxygen, and apparently all signs of human life. I am surprised we were even allowed to walk through the front room to reach the rest of the house. And that plastic furniture in the summertime? Most of us had no air conditioning. If you sat down wearing shorts, you needed prayer, patience, and a gentle rescue team to help you stand back up. Then we grew up and carried some of those habits with us. We saved the china for company, the expensive perfume for somewhere important, and the outfit for when we lost ten pounds. Meanwhile, the china collected dust, the perfume changed color, and those ten pounds filed for permanent residency.

The younger generation seems to have taken the opposite approach. They are not saving much of anything. They wear the crop top before losing the weight, run errands in pajamas and satin bonnets, and may not own a set of "good dishes"—or dishes, period. Food arrives at the door in a container with its own fork. Perhaps both generations could learn a little something from each other. They could save a bit more, and we could loosen up and enjoy a bit more, as for me, I am taking my cue from that old Sam & Dave song: "Hold On, I'm Comin'." I am coming to use everything I have. I am lighting the candle, wearing the fur coat, putting on the special outfit, and bringing out the elegant tablecloth—even if the menu is fried chicken and potato salad. Fine dining is partly an attitude. A beautiful thing earns its value through the memories we make while using it, not through the dust it collects while we save it. I am becoming more intentional about enjoying my life now. I wear the expensive perfume. I use the dishes. I light the candle. And if the candle burns all the way down, I will buy another one. That is what stores are for. Later is not promised, and today deserves some joy too. I am not talking about being reckless. Please do not read this and spend the mortgage money on a cruise, then tell the bank, "Lorraine said to live life on purpose." Lorraine said no such thing. I am talking about ending the habit of postponing joy until someday, because someday has a sneaky way of turning into never.

Maybe that is part of what being a D.I.V.A. really means: Divine. Individual. Victorious. Authentic. It means celebrating the woman you are right now—not only the woman you hope to become after losing weight, clearing your schedule, fixing everything, or finally getting everybody else's approval. So here is my birthday challenge:

Stop saving the good stuff. Wear it. Use it. Light it. Go. Laugh loudly. Take the picture—wear that dress that makes you feel good, smell expensive, use that china. Do not wait for permission. Aging is not winding down. It is becoming wise enough to stop waiting. There is no expiration date on purpose—and there should not be an expiration date on your joy either.

Live Life on Purpose.