Day 76: A Non-Reflection, Otherwise Known as the Original

Now this is an outfit that is something I would love to wear--and might someday soon. I am obsessed with these pants from J. Crew. Next month they will be eating up my retail budget. I just can't wait any longer. And, because of Hank, I now have this bag and love it even more in person than in a silly picture. The bracelet, necklace, and tank are pretty basic and can be substituted by cheaper versions. As for the shoes, well, I'll make due without them for now, but they will soon be on my list, although maybe in a warmer color. And any number of shoes would work just fine with this outfit--just keep them heeled and open but not too delicate. Because of its aura of easy glamour, we'll call this one, "Just an Extraordinary Day."

Well, we’re down to three posts, and two of them are going to happen today. By Saturday, I will be finished with a project that has taken almost as long as a full-term pregnancy to be be completed. I realize this may not be as heart-breaking for the few readers I have as it is to me. For me, the end of this project will feel like a huge absence of something. What will I do with the hundreds of pictures of jewelry and shoes that have become my palette for painting my favorite kind of landscape—that of clothing on the human form? I can’t even touch them. Sure I can look at them and combine them once in a while, but it won’t be the same. They won’t come alive as they do now. I knew I should never have picked Neil Halstead for the soundtrack to today’s writing session. Is any music more depressing? Changing it. Considering keeping it. I don’t think it’s the music. It’s me.

So, synopsis. Carrie moves to Paris to be with Petrovsky. Before she does, Big comes to New York to beg her to give him another, final chance. She, of course, refuses and tells him to stay out of her life all together. In Paris, things don’t go according to fantasy. The Russian is preoccupied with his art and career, leaving Carrie to wander the city alone, speaking to people in what little French she knows. Eventually, she realizes she will always be second to her beau and leaves him—just in time to see Big waltzing through her Paris hotel’s door to bring her back home. Big tells her she’s the one and always was.

Charlotte and Harry finally hear from the Chinese adoption agency that informs them they have a little girl on the way. Charlotte’s scene, again, is so moving you’d have to have a heart of stone not to cry with her. Samantha’s sex drive is down because of the chemo, and Smith is leaving to shoot a movie in Canada. She tells him to feel free to have sex while there, though he refuses. While he’s gone, she realizes she isn’t okay with him sleeping with someone else either, which tells her something about how seriously she feels about him. He comes back early to tell her he loves her. Miranda surprises Steve when she suggests his ailing mother comes to live with them and surprises herself when she cares for her in-law as she would her own mother. The three girls all take part in telling Big to go to Paris to get Carrie.

Pretty dang romantic stuff. Now, I am not going to bore everyone by talking about how I, too, know what it’s like to move to a foreign country for someone and have it all go to hell—especially when you have no one like Big to immediately pick up the pieces and bring you home. I had to do go through it alone. True, I met Jorge, which made the pain easier. But that only happened after three weeks of feeling utterly fucked. It took many days of just laying for hours in my rented hotel room, listening to stray dogs wailing outside; writing when it was all I could think of to do; calling my dad bawling and hearing him say to hang in there; trying to learn more Spanish so that I could order dinner; and avoiding everything that had to do with Billy, which was a lot in a small, mountain town. It wasn't fun, but I won't talk about that anymore.

I will not talk about how you can be in a room full of your exotic boyfriend’s friends and feel more isolated than you ever have in your life. I won’t mention how disappointed you feel when you see the person you gave up everything for change right before your eyes. I won’t talk about the calls home, trying to explain the situation in a way that doesn’t betray your fear and said disappointment—and especially doesn’t force you to admit you were wrong about everything. I’m not going to talk about these things, because they don’t matter. They’re what it takes to make you recognize that you’re strong. I’ve already talked about this.

I certainly don’t want to talk about how important it is to have friends to come back to—even if your best friends are two sisters who have seen you through everything and always seem to see the best in you. Or how you can’t give up yourself for someone else. It never works. Carrie left her laptop at home. I left the piano. Sure she could use the Russian’s if she wanted, just like I found a place to practice, but they weren’t our souls. Our souls were at home, where we left them.

I won’t speak about the importance of letting people be who they are, even if that’s not who you want them to be. Carrie was much better at letting go than I was. What took her five minutes to do took me months. I kept fighting the Billy I started discovering once I lived with him in favor of the one I barely knew and moved for. I didn’t want to accept his lifestyle, his values, him. Why couldn’t he just mold into the image I had of him and us as a couple? But I’m not talking about that.

Or about the fact that just because something is new and exciting doesn’t mean it’s better than something steadfast and simple. A glittery shoe won’t hold up very well in the rain, nor will it take you many miles, even if it’s cute and provides you a few moments of intense happiness. It doesn’t mean you shouldn’t buy it. It means you should buy it knowing full well what it is and isn’t. And what it can do and can’t. But we’re not talking about shoes.

I don’t want to ramble on about following your intuition, even if it tells you to run the other direction from what you thought you wanted. If it speaks to you, listen. Listen and respect. Don’t look back. Don’t wonder, “What if…?” “What if…?” is only a game of the imagination and not to be taken seriously. “What if…?” isn’t life. It’s boredom. When your heart tells you to run, you run. When it doesn’t, you don’t. Sometimes, that’s the best you can do. And after all you’ve been through, there are things—like a playful and furry Wheaten Terrier and a loving and sensitive man—that remind you of all the joy in the world and how much left of it there is to discover. But that’s another topic for another time.

No, right now I want to talk about life. But I already have.

I hope you’ll be back. I will.