Dear Mom & Dad: More Thoughts on Change

 

Dear Mom & Dad,

Clearly, I am more resistant to change than I thought (or said the other day).  One day with no bang (pulled back with a clip) and I couldn't take it.  I looked at myself in the mirror and initially thought I could deal with this.  By the end of the day I couldn't.  Reminded me way too much of my hair in high school.  More specifically my senior class photo (and I believe church directory photo as well), where both mom and I had our hair pulled back (no bangs) in a knot/bun.  I don't know why I ever thought that was attractive.  And then I remembered my college photo.  Still no bangs, but hair not pulled back, but probably about the length it is now.  It wasn't quite as bad (or severe), but still...NO.  So I took scissors to those overgrown bangs and here we are today...They don't look great (my hair never looks great, but that's another topic), but it is better.  (Not much, but...)

I guess I really don't like change when it comes to hair.  (Which I have always been OCD about...I'm not sure why, but I am.)  I don't like how thin it's getting.  (And why is my hair getting thinner when I am getting fatter?)  I want it the way it was...not that it was ever thick, but it was not quite as sad as it is now.  With vanity getting the better of me, I'm going to try some products that are supposed to give you volume (which I so desperately need) and maybe even some growth.  (I am not counting on that.)  I know I am too darned focused on looks (see what 50+ years of media exposure has done to me?), but that is a really hard thing to change.  I could say that I'm doing all this for healthier hair (which is partially) true, but I'm honest enough to say that's not the real reason.

The one change I am going to HAVE to make for my own sanity is transportation.  The express bus is no longer expressy.  (I know that's not a word.)  Traffic on Orange Street in Newark is horrendous...it's a big parking lot that inches forward so slowly that a snail could beat us.  It was bad last night; top that off with Pleasant Valley Way being closed and no detour set up, what once was a 30-minute commute turned into a 90+ one.  (No Pleasant Valley Sunday here!  Maybe Carole King and Gerry Goffin should have written a verse about the police and traffic!)  The local will pick me up and drop me off closer to home so there will be less walking (which is for the best during extreme weather) so I SHOULD be happy.  However, local is also slow and requires a transfer to the light rail (which makes the final portion of the trek faster).  Plus there are a LOT more people (although the express has been getting pretty crowded), which means I need to put the mask back on.  Let's face it, I don't like the commute period.  Working from home is so much more convenient.  (Although when we first did during the pandemic, I thought I would never survive.)

Why am I writing all of this?  I realize that the biggest change I've had to make and the one that I like the least (and can do nothing about) is that I can no longer talk to you.  Yes, maybe it was a pain to call mom every morning when I drove to work.  Maybe I didn't want to do it.  But I checked daily.  And when mom was no longer around, every time I came to the office, I would text dad from the bus to let him know I was headed in.  I have no one to tell my petty and unimportant snippets of news to.  My husband either already knows or doesn't really care.  If I tried with anyone else it just wouldn't be the same.  I want to be able to call and tell you how lousy the traffic is.  I want to talk about what is going on in town.  I want to share gossip and grievances.  I want to tell you how James is and that while he's a "tour guide" on campus two of his appointments never showed. And I can't.  So here we are.  Me talking to you in my head and then typing it out here.  Is this insanity or a way of working through grief?  Maybe both?

Love you,

Me