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Saturday, January 28, 2012

curly hair, empty parking spots and other things I can't seem to control.

Control is far away.  It's like a package I know has been sent, but hasn't arrived in the mail yet.  I wake up every day thinking, "Yes!  Today is the day control will come!"

The anticipation of its arrival nearly brings me to the shoreline of tears.  My heart longs for it so badly, and my mind nearly tears itself apart.  It turns against me, asking why I can't seem to get it all together.  I run to the mailbox only to find that control is not there.

And a hollow, stinging and suffocating emptiness results in the realization that control is not coming.

There have been so many instances in my days here recently that brought the unfortunate conclusion to my attention.  I breeze through life wearing high heeled pumps and bouncing my hair thinking that I can fool the world into thinking that I have it all together.  "I can fake it to make it" I tell myself. "And everything will be just fine."

But there are some things - even the smallest inconveniences - that you can't grasp hold of.  Even with a smile, a wave, a pair of shoes and a good excuse.

For instance, the other day my boss came up behind me and tossed my hair like a tennis ball on the palm of his hand.

"Can you do something about this?"
"About what?" I asked.
"Your hair?  Can you put it in a bun?"
"Um, sure?"
"It just looks a little crazy.  I know it's probably the weather..."

Oh no he didn't.

I sighed and reluctantly clasped my hair into a tight bun at the crook of my neck.

I've learned my hair is going to do its own thing. I've battled with it for years. I may as well save the money I've used on countless taming products and put it to better use.  Like paying to get my car back.

It was a late (or early depending on how you look at things) and brisk January evening.  One that would have you power walking anywhere you went, no matter how your feet hurt after a ten hour waitressing shift.  The sky was crisp and clear, and looking at the stars was like looking through a pair of glasses rubbed newly clean.

And the spot where I had parked my little red Toyota Camry, named Georgia after my favorite Ray Charles song, was vacant.  The fact that my watch read one a.m. only sweetened the deal.

It was a combination of a thirty minute car ride, one trip to the ATM  an hour long wait and one hundred and thirty-five dollars in cash (they were very serious about their precious cash for some reason) that had to take place before I could retrieve my car.  And it didn't matter how polite I was on the phone, or how patient I was with the two gentlemen who gave me my receipt and told me to "have a good night" (oh please), I felt small and insignificant.  Like no matter what I did, I wasn't an exception to the rules.

Being kind and confident did nothing.  So since then, I've pretty much fallen into a scaredy-cat default mode.  Such a big future is ahead of me, and there are so many unanswered questions.  I feel like a fawn, struggling for balance on its own legs.  Vulnerable.  Weak.  Desperately naive and focused on the wrong things.

I was feeling still feeling this way when I got home from work last night.  I shot a text to the BF, asking if he was ready for me to swing on by his place.  About fifteen minutes later, he replied.

"Sorry, I was distracted by my loop pedal."

Sitting there listening in his spinning desk chair, I can see why.  The loop pedal kept every bit of music that escaped from the hollow depth of his guitar sustained in the air.  The layers, the rhythms, the low bass strums, and the higher-pitched etherial notes wove together.  The room turn from a dimly lit loft with big law books that lawyers read to a room filled with continuous layers of sound.

They tossed, and bounced and flew together so perfectly, so violently, I thought the room would spill over and overflow in the crux of a simple, melodic beauty.

All the while, BF was standing there, strumming along and nodding.  His head was bent over his instrument and he had this look of concentrated control over his face.  Every once and a while when a chord would come together, he'd smile slightly.

And I thought, maybe life is the same way.

The chaos of our life is woven together.  All of its different compartments rolling together, twisting apart, dissonant, and harmonic. All at once.

Things like curly hair and empty parking spaces, and even larger-than-life problems like the future and a world post-graduation are just a sprinkle of sound in the whole mix.  I do not have complete control of the melody.  But I can smile, step back and appreciate the beauty of the song as a whole.

Have a lovely Saturday!

1 comment

brett baker said...

I love you, dear friend. Good word. And I LOVE that hair. Tell your boss to give me a visit in Charlottesville. I'd like to teach him a thing or two about the Bretts.

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