Since when do I care what people think of me?
Didn’t I fall on my face between home and first base in a work softball game for no apparent reason other than a combination of poor balance and coordination and get up and say, “So what? At least I’m here.”?
Didn’t I dance (badly and sometimes alone, but always joyfully) in front of more than one Floating Men crowd?
Didn’t I dress up like Janis Joplin and lip synch in front of the whole building in a Halloween contest?
Haven’t I always resisted being a label whore, and bought clothes and shoes and whatever else strikes my fancy at Wal-Mart and the like?
Don’t I have a blog where I ramble on about whatever suits me, opening me up to the criticism of millions of people all across the world? (So it’s really just the three of you, and the occasional visitor, but the possibility of millions is there, OK?)
So what’s with this public transportation stigma, and how did I allow myself to buy into it?
How could something as simple as riding the bus to work today feel so momentous? How can I even admit to that? (I’m sorry, Ms. Parks) But it did. And not just to me. So many people were curious, so many people had questions- like I had been to a strange land and returned with tales of a big blue monster with red cloth seats that whisked me away as I drank my French roast. I have taken trolleys in Chattanooga, MARTA or whatever it’s called in Atlanta, the subway in NYC, buses in San Antonio, Providence, and Mexico-all with no feelings of stigma. So why is it OK if I’m out of town, but here at home, if I’m being honest, I hoped no one saw me exit the bus? What’s wrong with the bus? I am sick of driving, sick of getting gas, sick of paying for it, sick of the miles adding up on my car, sick of bad, bad, bad, stupid, dangerous drivers who change lanes 16 times at 120 miles an hour-to end up one car ahead of me. Sick of it. I can’t wait for the train. I don’t want to carpool. I want to just ride. Why are we so shallow? Did I feel cool when I wore the Dolce & Gabanna sunglasses that S. lifted at a wedding reception and then left at my house? Sure. Do I like my knock off Kate Spade purse, and do I hope that people think it’s real? Sure. I’m human. I like to feel cool. I love my new earrings from a line of jewelry supposedly worn by Cameron Diaz and Lindsay Lohan, among others. But ya know what? I also love the silver hoops I have that my mom wore when she was 16. And the knockoff Keds from K-Mart that my grandma gave to me when she decided they squooshed her feet. And my green Wal-Mart raincoat. How many friendships and experiences have we missed because we are afraid of what other people might think? Am I guilty of it sometimes? Sure. But all you can do is try. So see you on the bus. I'll be the girl in the green raincoat.
Didn’t I fall on my face between home and first base in a work softball game for no apparent reason other than a combination of poor balance and coordination and get up and say, “So what? At least I’m here.”?
Didn’t I dance (badly and sometimes alone, but always joyfully) in front of more than one Floating Men crowd?
Didn’t I dress up like Janis Joplin and lip synch in front of the whole building in a Halloween contest?
Haven’t I always resisted being a label whore, and bought clothes and shoes and whatever else strikes my fancy at Wal-Mart and the like?
Don’t I have a blog where I ramble on about whatever suits me, opening me up to the criticism of millions of people all across the world? (So it’s really just the three of you, and the occasional visitor, but the possibility of millions is there, OK?)
So what’s with this public transportation stigma, and how did I allow myself to buy into it?
How could something as simple as riding the bus to work today feel so momentous? How can I even admit to that? (I’m sorry, Ms. Parks) But it did. And not just to me. So many people were curious, so many people had questions- like I had been to a strange land and returned with tales of a big blue monster with red cloth seats that whisked me away as I drank my French roast. I have taken trolleys in Chattanooga, MARTA or whatever it’s called in Atlanta, the subway in NYC, buses in San Antonio, Providence, and Mexico-all with no feelings of stigma. So why is it OK if I’m out of town, but here at home, if I’m being honest, I hoped no one saw me exit the bus? What’s wrong with the bus? I am sick of driving, sick of getting gas, sick of paying for it, sick of the miles adding up on my car, sick of bad, bad, bad, stupid, dangerous drivers who change lanes 16 times at 120 miles an hour-to end up one car ahead of me. Sick of it. I can’t wait for the train. I don’t want to carpool. I want to just ride. Why are we so shallow? Did I feel cool when I wore the Dolce & Gabanna sunglasses that S. lifted at a wedding reception and then left at my house? Sure. Do I like my knock off Kate Spade purse, and do I hope that people think it’s real? Sure. I’m human. I like to feel cool. I love my new earrings from a line of jewelry supposedly worn by Cameron Diaz and Lindsay Lohan, among others. But ya know what? I also love the silver hoops I have that my mom wore when she was 16. And the knockoff Keds from K-Mart that my grandma gave to me when she decided they squooshed her feet. And my green Wal-Mart raincoat. How many friendships and experiences have we missed because we are afraid of what other people might think? Am I guilty of it sometimes? Sure. But all you can do is try. So see you on the bus. I'll be the girl in the green raincoat.
posted by melissa at 9:42 AM
1 Comments:
You are such a trendsetter. You are super cool with your D&G sunglasses, your buddy Keds, green Wal-Mart raincoat, and Kate Spade purse. You ride that bus and keep your head held high! You lead and we will all follow!
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