the rest is not history
You can never predict how something’s going to make you feel, which is why change is annoying, but changing the change is even more annoying. Like how sad did you feel that Michael Jackson died (was murdered?)? I spent a lot of time crying and listening to P.Y.T. too, but would I be happier if it was suddenly revealed that Michael was actually still alive? Not really. I’ve moved on, and honestly he should too.
I dyed my hair red, and then a week later I used hair dye remover to return it to my natural color, but the color it turned into was more reminiscent of a golden retriever who had just crawled out of a lake than the chocolate lab I was born with on my head, and the thing is I don’t even like most dogs, but people always want me to take care of theirs, and that’s what I think of now every time I catch a glimpse of my hair in the mirror.
I was in Belize and I started out really clean and in good spirits and then got really wet and dirty. I hated it in the moment, but when the time came to change my clothes I kind of didn’t want to, because the dried salt made it so difficult to move. Dirt was my new reality and I wasn’t ready to change (clothes) the change.
One time I bought a low-fat blueberry banana muffin from Peet’s Coffee, and I knew it wouldn’t be very good, but I thought there was the possibility that I might come to like it if I just gave it a chance, and you know I never came to like it, but I did eat the whole thing and ruin my appetite for lunch. I wasn’t particularly happy that that had happened, but if given the chance would I go back in time and change things? I kind of doubt it.
I’m all for being the change you want to see in the world, but I’m also pretty interested in not being the change that I don’t want to see.