My Black Choker
I was hot gluing my black choker collar back together last week when it hit me: I really should wear this more often. I spend an hour of every working day getting my face overhauled to look more like a news anchor and sometimes I wonder how I got here. It feels like a blur. Who is Leah under all that makeup? Where did she go? I’ve been trying to remember my steps and I keep going back to 2005.
I have a really grown up job that I LOVE but often I feel myself aging from within (I blame ridiculous Twitter trolls for some of my tension). I have the career of a thirty year old and sometimes wonder where my twenties went (even though I’m in the middle of them). Some days I feel bitterness, stress, and anger brewing inside. I don’t like that. I want to revive elements of 13 year old Leah when I dreamed of being a journalist, had a hair sprayed middle part (think: reverse ombre), and a choker collar. I always had on that choker.
I found a similar necklace (or torture device) with my BFF Victoria this winter in London. We met when we were infants but started hanging out again as teens. I am happy to say, we both look better now.
Instead of always moving forward and looking for the next thing, I’m moving ahead by rewinding and finding things I’ve let go, want back, or missed completely: Choker collars, Elvis Presley, jelly Swatch watches, and how to make a slow cooked pot roast. I’m finding a great deal of joy in retracing my steps, re-smelling the roses, and remembering who I was in order to apply it to who I am.
Take gardening for example. My mom used to make us weed the yard as punishment. Now, I enjoy it (even though most of my plants are dead). The ficus tree in my living room currently looks a lot like my dating life in that it looks like someone took a blow torch to it. I don’t know how you go from taking care of trees and shrubbery to being expected to raise a family, but the succulents on my porch would tell you to tell me to wait. I just love pruning the tree and buying it plant food. I enjoy taking a fork to its earth and rotating it for sunlight. It’s simple and seems stupid but those moments of helping something grow actually helps me be more me. I’m not sure I regret hating weeding on my high school weekends, but I do think it makes me better now.
On the topic of dying things, I’m also trying to move forward with dating. Dating is hard as, well, you fill in the blank. This year has raked me over the love coals and spit me out on the other side. The broken bones have healed but there’s still a slight limp. Instead of resenting it, I’m starting to embrace it. Now let’s go back to 13 year old Leah’s version of dating. It could be summed up in two words: Taylor Swift. But back then, all her songs sounded so foreign and whimsical. I am coming off a season when I couldn’t listen to any of her tracks because they all reminded me of jerks or not-so-jerks from my past. To combat this, I’ve been listening to her on shuffle, teaching myself to embrace any positive or negative feelings that come my way (some faster than a new Maserati down a dead end street).
My home team lineup (and let me tell you, they are quite the eclectic bunch of dudes) have taught me a fair share about what it means to live (and feel like you’re dying). They are from many states and several countries and have somehow worked in unison but totally separately to drive me to a place of deep and prolonged soul searching (sometimes called insanity). A few of them would say we never dated, but we totally did. The ones that held the door open are still my favorites and the ones that left me wounded ended up teaching me the most. I have to smile when I look back or else I would be too bitter to move forward.
Thankfully, I fight different battles now. I’m not up against mean teenagers and invasive zits (ok, those days aren’t entirely over) but I do have to learn how to manage my emotions when my makeup artist gets frustrated when I show up with a sunburn or when the blockade keeps my parents from visiting. Little things, I know, but they add up. How does adult Leah react to these variables? I’m still learning, but so far my best bet has been to laugh.
Life is just messy and unpredictable. My twenties are fantastic but they are absolutely nothing what I thought they’d be. I envisioned more of a seamless college round two. Instead, I find myself consulting Tim McGraw for life advice, discovering moldy cheese in my fridge, and buying more conservative clothes that cover my shoulders. I have had to return to basics to deal with my new basics. Bringing back elements of high school Leah definitely helps. My community and family were closer then and I have to remember what that felt like to retain my personality and outlook on life. I often forget.
I have a theory that we are all warthogs running around on the African savanna that is life. A warthog forgets why they are running when they are being chased every six seconds. They literally have to stop every six seconds to remember why they should be afraid. Though it makes them awesome targets, it also forces them to live in the moment. I try to stop myself, even when I’m under attack, to ask myself why I’m reacting the way I am. Most times, I gauged the situation incorrectly. I then reassess, calm down, ask for forgiveness, and move on. I don’t need to keep running from little things that scare me.
I have however, run away from social media. I’ve been off Instagram for a month now and deleted Facebook from my phone. Fasting from technology is now the crux of my sanity. I need to disconnect to feel connected. My 13 year old self wouldn’t get that, but I’m glad I do now. I have to pull away to get in close. Otherwise, my relationships and my mental health take a beating. That’s not something I am willing to skimp on. I also don’t have to go out every night to prove anyone anything and that’s ok. Currently, I am stuck on a 2011 Netflix rerun of The Good Wife. I think it reminds me of my mom (because she actually watched it when the rest of the world was watching it). And no, I still haven’t seen Game of Thrones (I’ll save that for my next decade).
Since I fixed my black choker collar, I’ve had it dangling on my jewelry rack behind my door in the bathroom. It’s next to a fine necklace from my grandmother and a bracelet my parents got me in Cuba. With this new revival I feel coming on, I’m thinking (and hoping) it won’t be hanging alone this weekend.
*follow the bold links for my current favorite songs– you’re welcome