I’ve never been fond on New Year’s resolutions, and hence don’t make them. If you want to start or change, just do it. Or at least try to; it doesn’t matter what month it is. I do believe that January is a good time for reflection (but I suppose any day will do).
This afternoon, I found myself driving down the street in my car that is new enough to be considered a Christmas present even though I started driving it before Christmas, and was keenly aware that tomorrow I have to go back to work. Tired of mumble rap and other music with its misogynist lyrics, I had Bob Marley playing in the background. I’d enjoyed the time off at the end of the year, using it to pause and spend time with family but I didn’t for one minute begrudge that I have to go to work tomorrow. In my daytime life, I have a great job that many would consider sexy and amazing. I thought of my father and how proud he would be of me (of course this is in the movie inside my head; he’s been dead almost 25 years. Th…
I always talk to my Lyft driver. Today was no different. I instructed her on the best way to turn around in my hairpin driveway, slid into the back seat and then “How are you today?”
Unlike in a taxi, there was no plexiglass wall between us, nothing to suggest that the person behind the wheel had no desire to connect.
She smiled in the rear view, and I could tell there was much story behind her round eyes. Her reply rang with an African lilt. Somewhere west, maybe?
I have found that for most people, you don’t have to ask directly. If you show a little interest, they will tell you all sorts of things about their lives that help you understand how they came to be in the space they occupy at the present moment.
My phone rang, interrupting me. My husband was catching me on the way to a different airport to fill me in on how his recruiting trip had been going. We work for tech industry competitors, (but not competitors), and he joked that he has to get to the would-be interns for his co…
This past week, I challenged myself to not slip into any pair of jeans. Instead, I was going to explore the side of my closet that holds all the dresses and skirts. As it turns out, I have a lot, and I only seem to wear them to church or when I am going out to somewhere other than work. Since I keep telling myself that if I haven’t worn it in a year it has to go, it makes no sense to have a bunch of things that are about to turn into closet-pumpkins. Rather than throw them out, I’d decided to attempt to wear them, and hence reset their termination clock.
While contemplating what shoes went with my skirt, for some reason, I remembered my fourth grade teacher. She ‘d worn dresses every day, or at least, a sort of dress. I can’t remember her name at all, or the details of her face, but what I do remember is that she’d worn a saree every day of the school year.
Her sarees were beautiful. And flowy. They were flowy and flowery in the winter, when other people were wrapped…