There was a time, a few years ago, when I decided to embrace the color pink. I bought a pink wallet and a pink iPhone case. I also had a pink hat that I liked to wear in the winter. It was the “hot color” of the season, so you couldn’t avoid seeing it in the stores. I had previously been an avoider of pink because I thought it too girly. For some reason I didn’t want to be seen as girly. Looking back, I’m not sure what my problem was with the idea of being a “girly girl”.
Who was I then? Who am I now?
This morning I discovered some new “thought leaders” to follow on Twitter, and I wondered how I can become one of them. So that begs the question, “am I not happy with who I am?” Where is the line between striving for something more, and just wishing to be something you’re not? Do I need to be famous to feel worthwhile? I’ve always wanted to be famous. When I got rejected by a guy I had a crush on in high school, I consoled myself with the thought that someday I’d be a famous movie star and that stupid boy would be sorry he rejected me.
I am not a famous movie star. Honestly, I think Hollywood would chew me up, spit me out, and then tap dance on my limp and flattened soul.
I’d like to do something big though. I’d like to make a splash in the world, hopefully while I’m still young-ish and attractive.
You see, sometimes I feel like I’m very, very cool, but there aren’t enough people to witness my coolness.
This could be something akin to a manic episode. I’ve gone several weeks now without falling into a mildly depressive state and it’s confusing me. Is this really me? This is where writing fiction comes in handy. You just work all of this stuff out on your characters.
I don’t have the pink wallet and iPhone case anymore, and I wish I had the hat. I also still want to be a movie star, or at least have a part in a major motion picture. I’d settle for an independent film if I really like the script.