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A Few Things I Want To Tell Six-Year-Old Me
The stories we tell ourselves can make all the difference
I’ve been happy since November. Yes, I understand that happiness is a subjective concept. I know that it’s not the end-all, be-all in life. I absolutely get that it’s only been six months which shouldn’t even be that big of a deal. But it is to me, dammit.
Tonight, I listened to Sam Cooke and Solomon Burke while I danced around the grocery store at 10:00 at night. An older man with a kind face stopped me to ask how long it had taken to do my hair.
“Six hours.”
“That seems long. Mine doesn’t take long at all.”
He rubbed his bald head, smiled, and continued walking down the store aisle. I stood there laughing in front of the sausage section because I found it genuinely hilarious.
On days like today, after a streak of a good mood, I catch a glimpse of six-year old me who was just effervescently happy to be alive. I do a little shimmy for her while…
