On the Three Dollar Sticker

Tap. Push. Tap. Tap. The mechanical swivel of the front door lock granted us access from the cold and into our just-warm-enough-for-refuge rental home. We stomped our boots, laid to rest our scarves, surprisingly upbeat for the end of a holiday weekend. I strode through the living room, in a rare but treasured clean-it-up mode whereby every unopened envelope and every spare delivery box finally gets dealt with. But before any of that was a brown sleeve that had caught my eye, finally enabling me to overcome the mental block from dealing with it all week.

"What the hell is this?" I muttered, disappointed in my lack of awareness as much as I was annoyed at the object's presence. 

"Oh, right." I answered myself, as disappointment turned into positive anticipation. I was reminded of the three-dollar "Good Enough" stamped onto a golden trophy sticker that I had bought for myself at the ever-unnecessary, ever-entertaining novelty shop down Wisconsin Avenue. I did that thing, where I smile in mind. I got the double pleasure of throwing away the envelope and then striding back to the living room to apply the sticker to my laptop.

I used to think laptop stickers were tacky. Now I think they're fun and expressive. The beauty of having a work laptop and a personal laptop is the opportunity for a split personality, with stickers at work, and all-business at home.

Why did the sticker bring me so much joy, I wondered, as I peeled away the bottom, peeled away the top, lined it up as best I could against the horizontal line of the edge of the laptop, sliding down for an obligatorily spacious margin. 

It's the little things. But sometimes, it's actually the little things that represent the big things, that life is about. What did the sticker represent for me? The freedom to be frivolous, and the ability to fulfill a desire. 

I grew up in a fairly serious context. It's not that my parents were excessive disciplinarians, but it was that we didn't waste money (or our cholesterol levels) at the little league snack stand, and we were supposed to make something of ourselves in life. It was a seriousness as a mindset and a lifestyle, but not as a grim mood that hung over us. So, buying a sticker for $3, which was possibly half or more of what my mother made when she first came to this country, was a ridiculous idea in my mind. "That is not right. That is not my values." Also, how much would it have cost to make that sticker? It reminded me of my parents' speculation when we would have the rare occasion to eat out, my mom dismissing the present joy of enjoying a burrito to instead focus on the grocery store price for a pack of 12 tortillas. 

The freedom to be frivolous on occasion, not by default, brought a sense of bizarre accomplishment and joy to me.

Moreover, I forgot how easy it was to not express or fulfill a desire. I liked the trophy sticker. I liked the message. I liked the idea of next time I opened that laptop in a café, someone across the way seeing it and smiling in their mind, too. The simple act of wanting something and letting myself do it without guilt or hesitation was a small victory for me in reclaiming self. It was easy to drift away, suppressing desires or convincing myself asceticism was more righteous.

The sticker meant so little yet so much. I'm glad I reached for it and just got the damn three dollar sticker.