Eat, pray, drink wine and stay single?
An unexpected lesson from a botox injector—the latest from my series of stirring and heartwarming conversations with strangers.
this is the last “We Met in the Middle” story before season two. i will be on spring break next week, soaking up the sun, moving into a new apartment, and resting. feel free to check out the archive and read past posts if you’re new—i am so happy you are here.
Apparently I have a thing for picking my cosmetologists’ brains.
Last week I attended a grand opening of the new Skin Spirit Spa in Totem Lake. My Botox babe (yes, I get Botox, that’s a different story) was moving to the new location and I wanted to show support. (OK YA, I wanted the advertised goodie bag, promised discount on future services, and to enter my name in the raffle. Sue me I like free stuff.)
I arrived an hour after the event started. Surely only 20 people will be there and I don’t want to be the first to arrive. Fuck was I wrong. There were half a dozen people checking guests in with iPads, a DJ with open bar, a line out the front door to book services, and rooms overflowing with eager eyes watching demo procedures.
Needless to say, they ran out of goodie bags long before I arrived, and the discounts were only for new services, so I didn’t get free garb. I got something better.
After grabbing my free, very full glass of wine from the bar, I slithered my way past the crowd of people hovering around my Botox babe’s demo room (she was the most popular aesthetician, hell ya girl). I decided I’d give some love to the emptier rooms, and come back to congratulate her when the crowds died down.
Also, no, the wine is not the “something better.” But it certainly was a delight.
The further down the hall I got, the less slithering I had to do. The crowds cleared and I found myself facing the back room: a handful of women sat in the corner with pamphlets and samples, but no one to share them with. Bingo.
“Hi!” I exclaimed, ready to be taught all the ways to fix my sinking skin and prevent the natural aging process.
“What’s this room about?”
“Sculptra!” One woman said. “It’s a collagen-producing filler designed for all kinds of injections. What’s your experience with fillers?”
I shared horror stories of cheek fillers in 2016 when my face felt like rocks. We gaggled at the evolution of lips post-Kylie. Quickly and seamlessly, we stopped talking about cosmetics altogether.
“I’m here supporting Jessica, I’ve been out of the county and she was my Botox babe before so I’m excited to be back and wanted to support her!”
One of the seated ladies perked up.
“Did you do the Eat Pray Love thing??”
I smiled.
“Actually, ya.”
After I got divorced I went to Bali and everyone kept asking me that question, but I didn’t know what they were talking about.
I hadn’t read the book or seen the movie when I went. I finally watched the movie and kind of hated that the ending was that she found a man.
Why does the only storyline post-divorce end with finding a man?
Can’t the ending of the post-divorce story be somewhere else along the line, even if partnership is a desire? Can’t the hope for divorcees be rooted in something other than replacing the one we lost?
So many times I’ve felt like a failure because I’m still single. Does that mean my post-divorce story is still happening? A never-ending tale until I find “the next one”? Or could my post-divorce story be complete, because this story ends in stabilization? Reclaiming lost parts of self? Rebuilding, community, and safety in our new present and radically changed future?
What if the post-divorce story has nothing to do with love that comes next, and everything with the season of grief and self-discovery before that?
Where is that story? Maybe I just have to write it.
“Omg, did you meet someone?” She was on her feet now.
“No,” I laughed. “But I sure had a lot of fun.”
We talked about finding ourselves in the world. About travel. About what happens when we leave our little boxes and realize the material items or status we think bring joy are just buffers for the thing that does: authentic connection, vulnerability, and the growth that happens at the edge of discomfort.
“I went to Japan with my husband last year to see the famous cherry blossoms,” one aesthetician said.
“We asked another couple to take our photo, and they agreed as long as we took theirs too. I was certain we had taken a fantastic photo for them—I’d centered them in the frame, used a flattering angle, and considered how the light might accent their features. They look beautiful, I thought.
“Afterwards, we handed eachother back our respective devices, doing the silent let me know if you like it dance. My husband and I looked at our photos and gasped. We were in the far bottom left corner of the photo. The rest of the frame was filled with cherry blossoms. Pink, soft and vibrant against the blue sky. We weren’t the most important part of this photo, the cherry blossoms were. And without taking my eyes away from the blossoms to wonder if my face or body looked good, I thought, they look beautiful.”
The room went silent.
I was suddenly very aware of the contrast between her story and the room I was standing in. That at an event promoting cosmetic procedures, I was getting a shift in perspective about what really matters.
I asked them how they reconciled those feelings with their line of work:
“Not from a place of judgment—I mean obviously I get Botox and I’m here as a patron—but out of genuine curiosity for my own personal growth, how do you manage that internal conflict? Between knowing what really matters in life and working in a cosmetic industry?”
“I think for me it’s about balance,” one woman said. “Knowing what matters so I don’t neglect my loved ones or lose sight of what’s important, while also letting myself live how I want to. At the end of the day, we all will choose what feels best for us and people come here for thousands of reasons beyond cosmetics.”
Balance. Something I am always coming back to. The grey area, the both/and, the middle.
I thanked them for the conversation and left.
After a quick congratulations to my still busy botox babe, I booked my next appointment, and drove home.
As I did, I thought about cherry blossoms. I thought about places and people, and how despite what I think, how I look is never the most important part of any experience. I thought about balance, and the permission to live life on my terms—not according to someone else’s storyline or supposed happy ending. I thought about the women I met that night, and the stories they shared.
They were beautiful.
XX
Rachel
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