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April 11, 2012


sitting in a chair while you get your hair cut gives you plenty of time to think. you sit and you look at yourself in the mirror. you have no other choice. a mirror is there. of course you're going to look.  

you think this cut makes my face look thinner. you smile and think my face looks thinner. it's a small victory and you need it. you snatch it before it leaves your mind.

the girl turns the chair and the light looks different and your face looks different and you think of how much time you spend looking in mirrors. what are you looking for?

you think about the things you want to write about. 

it's a long list.

you think about gratitude, how much of it you have to put into the universe.

for friends who show up with wine, black blazers, and leftovers. friends who pour that third glass of wine and who know when to start pouring water. who hug, and know when to be the last to let go. who make you feel calm within five seconds. who help you laugh at yourself, always with love at the root. who keep you honest and humble.

for friends who tell you in the middle of the night "nothing you can do will change how much i love you." and when you cry they get up from the other side of your lovely little white-tiled kitchen table and hold you.

for baseball. sweet, delicious, infuriating, hope-infusing baseball. finally. 

for the fact that this song is an anthem of your life. and when you hear these three strong women you feel fourteen years-old again. you don't mind that one bit.


you think about numbers, the logistics of what you need to be doing this tuesday, this week, this spring. for someone who hates math, you have an obsession with numbers. 

you think of the number on the scale last week-how it didn't piss you off, but it didn't make you content and you wonder what content will feel like because that feeling comes and goes and when it comes it really is wonderful. you think about how you are going to continue to allow yourself that feeling. contentment.

you think of the miles you complete in a 60-minute spin class. you think of the fact that you won't get on a bike with a broken timer. you check the timer two dozen times during the class. at least 20 miles last week, 23 this week. you need to stop doing that. these are things you need to stop doing.

you get up from the chair and feel beautiful. you feel the lightness that comes from having your hair cut. the lightness of letting things go.

sometimes i don't feel like i started living until i began therapy, two years ago next month. a part of me feels like i wasted a decent portion of the prior twenty-five years of my life. 

i no longer have time to waste. 

i don't have time to waste on bad friendships, bad relationships, or people who are bad for my soul. i don't have time for cruelty, tardiness, or apathy.

i don't have time for bad kissing. i don't have time for boys who speak poorly of women. i don’t have time for boys. period.

i don't have time for men who aren't up for a challenge.

i don't have time for people who make me tired. i'm tired enough. i have no desire to feel like i'm still in high school. i don't understand those who do. 

i am always in a hurry: on the train, at work, on a bike. everything can be done better and faster. every.single.thing.

but it takes time to organize these feelings and girl, you’ve got a million. and there’s nothing wrong with that.

you’re done apologizing for all of them.

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