The Dirt Beneath My Nails

I used to think someone would love me
for the places I have been
and the dirt I have been gathering
deep beneath my nails.

That's from Time Spent in Los Angeles by one of my favorite bands, Dawes.  That line, in particular, has always spoken to me.  And it was running through my head today as I abandoned my gardening gloves and got deep into the work of planting.  I have washed my hands many times today, and my nailbeds are about as clean as they're going to be.

But those song lyrics speak more to me than just a rationalization for dirty nails.  They speak of who I am.  No, I've not spent much time in Los Angeles, but I am a traveler and a gardener, two pastimes that are very important to me.  And I think that they capture two of the more appealing parts of my character.  And yet, nobody that I know of loves me for them.

I can only remember one time that I had an actual manicure.  It was for my wedding day.  This was so far back in the day that one only had to choose a color.  There were no decals, artwork, rhinestone implants, glitter, whatever.  You picked a color, and the manicurist painted your nails.  She probably stuck your fingertips in Palmolive Dish Detergent . . . that's how far back I am going.  So I had a manicure.  And my nails looked nice on my wedding day.

I have many friends who regularly get their nails "done."  While I respect their choices, I just don't get it.  I don't know how one gets any work done with manicured nails.  Additionally, as I recall from my one manicure, it felt like the skin under my nails was suffocating.  I felt pretty claustrophobic. 

So there is dirt under my nails most of the time.  I wear it like a badge.  I'm not afraid of getting dirty, of working hard, of using my hands and fingers and nails to get a job done.  And if nobody loves me for it?  Oh, well.  I am in love with the dirt I have been gathering deep beneath my nails.