She's Scentsational

At the age of 54, on a bone-chilling Monday morning, Margo, an academic professional, gave her boss two weeks' notice, drove two hours from her home, and applied to work as a Scent Specialist at a candle store.

She did not question herself too much over this decision. Sure, she thought about it, but she didn't really question it. She wondered aloud to her God, "What am I doing?" But she did not stop driving or try to revoke her resignation. She had no particular problems at her current job, nor did she have any particular fondness for it. She did not feel she would regret leaving the job. She did wonder whether she should have applied for the Scent Specialist position before she quit; however, it was now too late for such thoughts. Those types of thoughts would do no good.

She left her little town in Illinois to drive to a little town in Wisconsin and apply at this little candle store that she could not stop thinking about. She wondered how the store would feel in the winter, since it was summer when she first found the shop.

During her candle store visit, she created a scent that she took joy in lighting every night when she settled down for television and wine time. The smell surprised even the Specialist, who stated, "I did not think those two oils would go well together, but it certainly does smell lovely." The scents Margo had chosen were 'pistachio' and 'bourbon'. She loved pistachios, and her husband loved bourbon; how could they not combine well together? Her friend, who sat beside her, mixed three scents that created a summer-vacation smell—sunscreen, cotton, and salty air—which was nice but not the kind of scent Margo would ever consider making. She felt this smell could be found on any drugstore shelf. Margo was not judging; it was just her opinion when she inhaled her friend's mixture. Margo had thought at the time that the Specialist had silently agreed with her regarding the beachy scent. When Margo thought about this candle store visit with her friend, who she loved dearly, really, even if she did not love her scent, she also had the opinion that her friend could not possibly have created any other scent besides something "vacation-like" because this friend's life was indeed a vacation. Her friend lived on a healthy inheritance and basically spent her days shopping and attending wine tastings. Perhaps if her friend stopped in at the candle store, Margo could help her create a wine-scented candle that also smelled like an expensive price tag -- maybe something leathery, like a couture handbag.

Every day, or almost every day since, she thought of the neatly placed amber colored oil bottles lining the shelves. She imagined herself guiding customers, "Are you looking for peace? Then you must try this lavender oil mixed into this soy-based wax." Or "Are you feeling down in the dumps? Then this mixture of mint and vanilla is sure to pep up your step."

She wanted nothing more than to don the light blue apron the Scent Specialists wore and roam around the warmly lit store helping humans find a scent to help them heal.

Margo told no one of her plans, most likely because there was no plan except to apply and hope for the best. What would her husband think? Should she call him? Her three children? The youngest away at college -- the thought of his tuition caused the most minimal of hesitation, as surely, the Scent Specialist did not make as much as an academic professional. However, Margo did notice a tip jar on the counter. She would have to be the very best Scent Specialist ever. She could do it, she knew she could. So, she kept driving.

You might ask why Margo chose to do this. Well, she herself did not know. Was she testing the 'you can recreate your life at any age' theory? Was she feeling some midlife crisis? Was it empty nest syndrome? Perhaps it was a combination of all three, or maybe it was something else -- as stated before, she felt a pull she could not ignore, some would say a "calling."

Margo crossed over the Wisconsin border and felt a lightness in her shoulders. She briefly rolled down the window and let the shock of cool air lift her hair from her face. She could not help but smile. As the car warmed back up, she remembered her husband's questions to her the previous night. He wondered if she was okay, as she seemed "distracted" lately. He worried about her sleepless nights and wine consumption. She was perfectly fine, she insisted. She invited him to sit beside her in the glow of her flickering candle and pour himself a bourbon. She considered telling him that her restless nights were due to her delightful, nonstop thoughts about all the different ways to mix candle scents. And the wine, well, that was just a way to settle in at night and help her get at least a little bit of sleep.

At a red light and with her destination within miles, Margo checked her lipstick and mascara in the rear-view mirror. She pinched her cheeks, checked her teeth, and ran her fingers across her freshly cut bangs. She thought about stopping for a coffee (another candle scent she did not appreciate) but decided against it as she was anxious to get to the store. Coffee could wait. The next chapter of her life could not.

As she pulled into the parking lot, she inhaled deeply and refused to let any nay-saying thoughts enter her consciousness. Walking toward the entrance, she noticed an elderly couple headed into the candle store. She picked up her pace so she could very politely open the door for them. She knew a good Scent Specialist would do such a thing. Customers first. Inside the store, she exhaled and said, to no one in particular, "I am here."