Wednesday, July 25, 2012
And I'm about to trade in my right arm for a cookie to go with my morning coffee.
Would you like to know what happened on day one of my sugar-free life? I announced to my boyfriend, my never-eating-dessert-doesn't-even-enjoy-sweets boyfriend, that I wanted to go cold turkey on refined sugar (so fruits are okay) for a few weeks just to kick my need for a daily fix, and he came home with this:
Friday, July 13, 2012
Ms. Kahng said, “An old buyer from Neiman Marcus that I used to work with, who’s now retired, recently e-mailed me, ‘You’re still the coolest kid on the block’, and she’s right, I’ve still got it.”
Where can I get me some of that?
There's a strange dichotomy within my person. There's a part of me that decides and does what I want with disregard for propriety or of disapproving looks (admittedly, to the point of insensitivity at times), my internal moral compass my only guidance. (If you were wondering, yes, I get lost often.) And then, usually after whatever deed is done, I look over my shoulder and ask, "That's okay, right?" And then...
"That's reasonable, isn't it?"
"Is that normal?"
"Normal," I believe, is the worst word to ever be devised.
I admire people with self-assuredness, a cool certainty of themselves. (Note: Not bravado.) What do they know that allows them to say, "She's right, I've still got it"? How do they drown out the rest of the world inhabited by [insert numerical digit followed by many zeros] people more talented, more able, luckier even? An Everest, thanks to my crippling fear of failure.
With each year under my belt, that confident, irreverent person steps with a little more spring, but contrary to logic, that only seems to heighten my insecurities. Is that normal?
Maybe that's just one of the cons of being 23. Pros: no wrinkles. Yet. Cons: self-doubt.
(image and quote via NYT, designs by Gemma Kahng)