A Little Time That Belongs to Me

Today was just… a day.

Not good. Not bad. Nothing worth calling anybody about.

Just one of those days where life does what life does, and you do what you have to do right along with it.

By the time I got ready to shower, I knew exactly what I wanted.

My time. My music. My bathroom. Nobody needing anything from me.

And before anybody asks, yes, I have a whole routine.

I call it taking my self care time.

Setting the Scene

First, the music.

Jane Handcock – I Wanna Thank Me 2.0

Check her out. She’s a whole vibe.

Then I get my products together. My turmeric & honey soap. My light body oil for afterward. Everything where I want it, so I’m not dripping water all over the bathroom looking for something I should have put out before I got in.

We have all been there.

I light my candles. Get my resins and incense going. Let the room take on that familiar atmosphere.

There’s something about preparing the space that makes the whole experience feel different. I’m not just jumping in the shower because it’s time to get clean.

I’m making a little room for myself.

No big production. No expensive spa day. No need to turn self-care into another thing I have to get right.

Just a few things I enjoy, arranged the way I like them.

And for a little while, the experience belongs to me.

Then I Started Listening

I got into the shower with my music playing.

At some point, I closed my eyes.

Then I closed my mouth.

And just listened.

Y’all.

Why did the music seem so much more present?

I could follow the lyrics more easily. I started noticing notes I hadn’t paid attention to before. The rhythm felt more palpable, like I was experiencing the song differently instead of just hearing it in the background.

Nothing about the song had changed.

At least, not as far as I knew.

But my experience of it had.

“Was I hearing more, or was I finally noticing more?”

That question stayed with me.

Closing my eyes meant I wasn’t looking at anything. Keeping my mouth still meant I wasn’t singing along or adding my own sounds to the moment.

Maybe I had fewer things competing for my attention. Maybe I was simply more focused. Maybe there was something else about the moment that made the music stand out.

I don’t know yet.

And I don’t want to pretend I do just because I had an interesting experience in the shower.

But I noticed something, and now I’m curious.

Maybe This Is Why I Like My Rituals

I’ve been thinking about the difference between doing something and being present while I do it.

I shower every day.

But not every shower feels like this one.

Sometimes I’m thinking about what needs to happen next. Sometimes I’m mentally making a grocery list, replaying a conversation, or remembering something I forgot to do.

My body is in the shower. My mind is somewhere planning tomorrow.

Today, I had made a little space for the experience before I even turned on the water. The music, the scents, the products, the familiar steps—they helped create the kind of moment I wanted to have.

Maybe that’s part of what makes a ritual feel different from an ordinary routine. Not necessarily the activity itself, but the attention and meaning we bring to it.

I’m not saying a candle will solve your problems. If that were true, I would have bought stock in the candle industry by now.

I’m saying I want to understand why certain moments feel different when I prepare for them, give them my attention, and allow myself to actually experience them.

That seems worth exploring.

A Question I’m Taking With Me

After the shower, I reached for my light body oil and took my time applying it.

No rush to get to the next thing. No expectation that I needed to emerge from the bathroom as a completely new woman.

I just wanted to enjoy taking care of myself.

And now I’m wondering how often the conditions around an experience shape what I notice within it.

The space. The sounds. The smells. The state I’m in when I enter the moment. The meaning I attach to what I’m doing.

Maybe those things matter more than I usually realize.

I’m not ready to make a grand statement about it. I’m just paying attention.

“Sometimes taking care of yourself gives you a moment to notice something you might otherwise have missed.”

Today, that something was a song I thought I already knew.

I’m going to let the question sit with me.

— Maya

A Note From Healthy Self

Maya’s journal begins with a personal observation, not a scientific conclusion. Closing the eyes can reduce visual input and may help attention settle on sound. Her experience alone cannot establish whether her hearing became more accurate, or whether closing her mouth independently affected what she heard.

In a follow-up article, we’ll explore attention, sensory input, and ritual—and what research can and cannot tell us about the way we experience ordinary moments.

The story comes first. Then we investigate.