The other day I opened the cabinet to grab a bowl for dinner and noticed something I’ve apparently been ignoring for years. Right over there in my china cupboard are the "special" ones — the pretty bowls and plates that are part of a set of dishes my grandparents gave me. And without even thinking about it, I always grab one of the plain, practical bowls to use every day.

That’s when the question hit me: when exactly am I planning to start using the good ones? I’ve had them for a long time. Somewhere along the way, I must have decided they belonged to a different version of my life. I mean, I pull a few out every now and then for a pretty little tea party with my granddaughter, but I never really use them. 

The more I thought about it, the more I realized this isn’t just about dishes. At this point, I’m basically preserving things for a future version of me who is more organized, more prepared, and somehow a little more put together. Future-AJ has people over more often. She plans nicer meals. She serves things in the pretty bowls instead of the pans they were cooked in in. She sets the table instead of sitting on the sofa to eat and stays just a little more ahead of everything.

Meanwhile, current-AJ is reheating leftovers, grabbing whatever’s clean, and using the plain, "practical" pieces while the nicer ones sit in the cabinet waiting for “later.” And it’s not just kitchen things. There’s the notebook I don’t want to mess up with my sometimes mindless rantings and the outfit hanging there waiting for just the right occasion. Little by little, I’ve been assigning the good things to a future life that doesn’t quite match the one I’m actually living.

The truth is, the future version of me I’ve been saving things for mostly exists in my imagination. Real life doesn’t suddenly become more polished or more impressive. It stays a little busy, a little messy, and a little imperfect — and so do I. Future-AJ isn’t going to be a completely different person. She’s just going to be me, a little older and still figuring things out on an ordinary Tuesday.

That realization led to a slightly uncomfortable question: why am I keeping them? Why am I holding onto the stand-ins while the nicer things sit unused, waiting for a life that isn’t actually happening yet? Or why am I holding on to the nicer things when I'm obviously not using them? At some point, it stopped being about saving the good stuff and started being about living with the leftovers.

So I'm going to make a small shift. I'll put the special dishes into everyday rotation. I'll use the nicer serving bowl on a regular weeknight. I'll start writing in the good notebook. I'll even let a few of the worn-out things go.

Nothing dramatic is changing. Dinner will still be simple. The day will still be ordinary. But something about it will feel different. As if I stopped treating my life as if it were the warm-up for something better and started recognizing that these regular, everyday moments are the life.

I think sometimes we save the good things because we’re waiting for life to feel more settled, more impressive, or more worthy. But life doesn’t send a signal when it finally becomes special enough. It just keeps moving, one ordinary day at a time. And if we keep saving the good stuff for someday, we risk spending those days surrounded by things we don’t even really like anymore. And what if it works in reverse? What if actually using the nice, special things is all it takes to make the day special?

Because the life I’ve been saving things for isn’t coming later. This is it. Not perfect, not company-ready most days, and not especially fancy — just real life. And lately, I’m starting to think real life is exactly where the good things belong.

Future-AJ will just have to deal with it.