“Before everything else, getting ready is the secret to success.”
-Henry Ford
Fourteen minutes. It takes me fourteen minutes to get ready to go to bed. And I have not even taken out my stale contact lenses yet.
I’m still not sure if I should be incredibly proud or deathly ashamed of this timefeat but, in any subjective case, fourteen minutes gives me a lot of time to think, with only the rasping of the Two-Minute-Gum-Care-Cycle on my electric toothbrush to keep me company and on target.
Staring into the mirror is a scary thing. Because, sometimes, the guy staring back at you looks upset, or has nervous fear in his dark eyes, or is growing a noticeable pimple on his right cheek that hopefully goes away by tomorrow, or has a small tinged downturn in his Colgate-enhanced smile, or just looks lost.
But fourteen minutes is more than enough time to work through all those problems. Fourteen minutes is long enough to animatedly lip-sync to 90’s boy bands, while giving a self-worth-riddled pep talk, while waiting for the acne-cleansing gunk to settle on the right cheek.
Since I started working eight-hour days, this ritual has become my only time to myself. While I floss and thread through my metal-braced bottom teeth, I pray and I think, and I let the waves of grace, sink water, and zit cream wash right over me.
