I could be mistaken for an edgy fashionista from Iceland or Germany. If I dressed in more earthy tones and donned some leather pouches around my neck, maybe native American. I am 1/32 Seneca, after all. But if looks could kill, I’d be dead by now. Those old farts that used to smile at me in the grocery store and call me sweetheart as I dodge their shopping carts, now stare at my bad-ass self from the corner of their wrinkled, puffy eyes hurriedly ordering salami from the deli counter at Dash’s, obviously uncomfortable with my coolness. One thing is for sure, if I was home in New York (where I belong, no offense Buffalo) no one would even second guess my new daring do. Sometimes anonymity is a blessing in a city of MILLIONS. But, mostly everyone is trying their damnedest to get noticed, thinking their next role is that future-changer, whether it be the part in the toothpaste commercial, or the right time-slot in the open mic night, or hanging your art in the coolest gallery in Brooklyn. Even the most skilled baristas strive to make creative foam art pieces on each cappuccino, unaware who may be on the receiving end of that hot beverage. But, just maybe it’ll get them to talking and “anonymous” may turn out to be the segue to stardom for the hidden talents that are not required for that meaningless day job that literally only pays their rent.
So go ahead and ask me about my AMAZING haircut, maybe it’ll change the road you’re on.
I MISS YOU, NEW YORK CITY, and I’m coming back to you as soon as possible, cancer and fancy free!
James- put another check in the “win” column. Thanks for holding up my hair, Ashlynn.