So, I was sitting at a bar…

A weird thing happened to me last night.  I was sitting at a bar, watching a band.  I was with a group of friends, but I lost them and just decided to chill and hang out.  I started talking to this girl, and I have no idea what we were talking about, but out of no where she says something to the effect of, “You know, you’d get a lot more guys if you had a different purse.  That purse scares a lot of guys off.”

(I’m not sure it’s necessary to know what kind of purse I have, but it’s handmade bag from Thailand.  This purse has a story.  I love this purse.  It’s me.)

There are lots of things wrong with what she said.  The worst is that she continued – apparently I don’t dress right and don’t wear enough makeup.

For those of you who know me in real life, you know how I dress.  You know I don’t wear much makeup.  I’m not critisizing anyone who wears more makeup than me or dresses differently than me, it’s just not me.

Anyway, she pretty much said that I had a nice personality and I’d attract more attention if I changed everything about my outside appearance.

I was offended.  I pretended like I wasn’t.  I laughed and asked her how old she was.  She was in her mid-20′s.  Right, I thought (maybe said).  When I was your age that’s all that mattered to me too.

This conversation has been weighing on me since.  I’m trying to figure out why this happened to me last night.  There aren’t any coincidences, something that I was thinking brought about this experience.  Was I feeling vulnerable?  Ugly?  Belittled?

Or maybe, I just needed her to say that so I could see how far I’ve come.

It was only a few years ago that her words would have really, really hurt me.  I’m not saying that they didn’t sting a bit, but then I realized that I don’t care at all what she thinks of me.  Or anyone else in that bar, for that matter.  I am who I am.  It’s taken me a long time to figure out that I don’t need makeup or expensive uncomfortable clothes to make people like me.  The people that really matter don’t care what I look like.  They appreciate the fact that I have a purse that I care about.  They like that I’m not the kind of girl who needs makeup or fancy clothes or whatever to prove my worth to the world.

I guess that’s it – I’ve learned that my true worth is what’s inside.  And as long as I like me, it doesn’t matter what anyone else thinks.  Because the people who matter, who will stick around, care about what’s inside.

That girl didn’t get to learn how smart I am, or funny, or caring, or that’s I’ve traveled to exotic places and met amazing people and seen wonderful things.  That I’m a writer and a music lover  and I hate to do dishes and I’m a great friend.  But I know these things, and that’s all that matters.

So thank you, my friends, to the old ones and the new ones, and the friends I’ve made through blogging (which is proof that it really doesn’t matter what I look like to be my friend).  Thank you for helping me realize how great I am.

I’m Back!

The official flag of Bali. Coat of Arms on top...

My first blog post since my trip and I’m struggling with what to say.

 

I can’t decide if it’s because I have too much to say, or not enough.  What does one say when they return from a trip that may or may not have changed their lives?

 

I know this blog is supposed to be about my struggles (and victories) with Hashimoto’s disease, but it has become much more than that.  While Hashimoto’s does not define me, it is a part of me, a part of my experiences.  There is no separating the disease from me.  So I guess what I’m saying is that if you’re reading this blog because you hope to get support in your own health struggles, that’s great and I hope to provide that, but you’ll have to slog through the other crap going on in my life as well.  Not that it’s all crap – honestly, most of my life is good, great even.  But one doesn’t write about only the good stuff, do they?  If that were the case we wouldn’t have some of the greatest writers and stories.

 

But I digress.

 

I suppose the reason why I haven’t written about Bali, why I “can’t” write about Bali is because so many of my feelings about it haven’t processed yet.  This was a trip like no other, in so many ways.  I hope to start processing them and writing about it soon.  I didn’t even write in my journal while I was gone (except twice) which is slightly annoying, but I also don’t write unless I have to.  (And I wonder why I can’t be a “writer” for a living.)  The spirit didn’t move me.  Or I avoided the spirit, which is the most likely answer.

 

I do know this: like when I returned from Thailand last year, I feel that a shift is occurring.  Like something is physically manifesting itself inside of me.  A change is afoot.  Or something like that.  Of course I have no idea what it is, but I also hope that it happens soon.  I’ve been waiting a year since Thailand – I wonder if my body just forgot that something was supposed to happen.  But now I feel ready – emotionally, physically, spiritually ready for what comes next.  Bring it.