I was thinking about my towel as I flipped my wet hair over and wrapped it up.
When had I started using this one? Last week? Is that too long? It’s probably really germy.
It’s probably best to use a new one every time. Like those hand towel versus paper towel, germ-growing, eighth-grade science projects say.
But that’s ridiculous. How gluttonous. I felt distinctly American in my thought process.
Everyone knows Americans bathe more often than most in the world. It’s simply not necessary.
What is necessary?
My mind goes automatically to scene after quick scene of my time in Peru and then onto more general TV clips of African women balancing water jars on their heads in stifling heat and an old, wrinkled, peasant farmer leaning over in the rice fields.
And I felt ashamed of the long, hot shower I had just taken. Extended moments of idle standing and a completely unnecessary leg shave. How much water had I used?
But I had a long day at work, spent an hour on the treadmill, and would only rinse quickly tomorrow morning. Can’t I have a long, hot shower to relax?
Well, that’s just it. I can.
And there’s grace in the recognition, gratitude, and empathy of that small inspiring moment.
My boyfriend Tim and I have talked about starting a non-profit organization together. He wants to save the world, and I think it’s a great idea. Inevitably, people want to know what kind of non-profit? Well, we don’t know yet. We’re going to think about it, travel, assess, and devise. What needs to be done that he and I can really impact? He’s going back to school for a PhD in Communications where he plans to study identity and non-profit organizations (ask him for the details). He’s a great teacher and speaker, is willing to work hard, and is imbued with a pure desire to make a difference. I have some business sense, public relations and diplomacy skills, travel experience, and useful (to Tim) spelling and grammar prowess. We’re banking on the Holy Spirit. We’ll steadily work our way to it if it’s in the design.
