I experienced a profound revelation this week: towels don't ever dry well in the cramped bathroom on their towel bars. They end up emitting that glorious musty-mildewy perfume within just a few days.
I decide to reject--once and for all--the towel bar in the bathroom.
Instead, I let all the towels dry by spreading them out on a drying rack. I position this rack right in front of the window so lots of sunshine and fresh air could dry my towels. Watching these towels this morning, I consider what it means to stay fresh in my own life. Am I hung up on a towel bar of criticism, bitterness, regret, or cynicism?
I have to let things air out. I need to put myself in new, expansive, open environments to keep fresh. There's something horrible about staying in the cramped, folded-up position that breeds the must and mildew. Living with flair means not letting mildew grow in my own heart.
Journal: Where does life feel cramped and musty?