twenty-five
at 25…
i’m the woman looking forward to cooking for myself and cleaning my home with the windows and patio doors open, “sex and the city” playing (muted) on the television while Jewel sings me lullabies.
given the chance, i will wait in line for three hours to goofily smile at my favorite songwriter — AND THEN GET IN LINE AGAIN hoping that the next chance at 45 seconds of conversation might actually include WORDS.
i light three intense candles in different parts of the house because i can’t decide on a single, wonderful smell — WHILE A FIRE IS BURNING IN THE FIREPLACE.
no one gets to tell me who i should be or where to go or how to feel. i am discovering who i am, what i like, and learning the most precious desires of my heart.
brandi carlile plays more than any other artist — even Pink — and i still don’t watch the news.
i’ve begun to believe in my ability to fake it or make it or both.
(more to come, surely.)
