I’m another souvenir, amongst many, from the various journeys through time that my father took. Perhaps more deeply rooted, being his child, but still a part of a much larger picture.
Taylor Swift jokes aside, I find my sartorial cravings this fall heavily inclined towards anything red. Bright yet deep—reds you can’t miss, reds you can’t write off as maroon or burgundy—no, RED.
After lamenting a deficit of “normal” compliments in my life, I’ve comforted myself by concluding that–while I’ll never be the Marsha Brady of the world–at least people are forced to go off autopilot when they address me.
I’m of the mindset that everything happens for a reason, with the caveat of: if you search hard enough for that reason. So, I’ve been digging relentlessly to try to find one, looking inside myself with the hope that I’ll figure out what this little life hiccup wants to tell me/what I can learn. I’m realizing, instead, that I might just have to succumb to the reality that these epiphanies rarely happen right away.
We are constantly letting the fear of seeming too into anything (especially those people we like to see naked) turn us into overly anxious, over-analytical people.
Reader Question: How do I navigate writing about my personal life without it affecting my personal life?
Revealing what I have on this site has been INCREDIBLY rewarding—which wasn’t even a consideration when I began. I think that was actually great because it made my voice authentic—I wasn’t trying to make anybody else feel anything.
At a recent party, I noticed that five totally different women had gone the super neutral route with their outfits. Being me, I feel the need to explore it further–because a dress can never be just a dress, right?
These moments aren’t tangible—they haven’t made me rich or afforded me the freedom to travel to my heart’s content, but they have made the last year of my life so much more rewarding than it would have been otherwise.