When I started to feel, I poured myself a friend and let the numbness wash over me like a wave of relief. Santosha. My okay. My stop the bleeding. My standard-issue tourniquet.
I have witnessed emotional explosions from friends and family members. They were generally the quiet ones. You know the type. They never complain when their Subway artist puts mustard on their cold cut when they explicitly ask for mayo. Instead of returning a gifted toaster because it shorted out, it rests on the shelf in case the gift giver arrives unannounced to their home. Their spouses still thinks they love those fat-wedged shoes they gave them at Christmas. They hate those fat-wedged shoes.
I can tell you with 100% positivity that the showiness of my generation has gotten way out of hand. Promposals. Sip and sees. Gender reveals. Pregnancy announcements. Pre AND POST kindergarten photos. First lost tooth. First poopy in the potty. First date out with hubby after the baby. A baby moon trip. A grandiose smash cake for child’s first birthday. A grandiose second birthday cake because we have to compete with the first.
My physical body feels like an anchor weighing me down to the past. It’s hard to run from your own body, ya know? So it’s kind of a constant reminder of the big fat elephant in the room. I’m just being real with this one. No sugar coating. I mean, I know what all that sugar coating did for me as a kid. It wasn’t pretty.
When I was in grade school,mistakes were the worst things you could make. It was a dirty word. Almost downright taboo. I cringed if I saw anything less than a perfect score on a spelling test. In high school and college, I spent countless hours reading and re-reading my essays until the papers furled around my fingers.