drama queen
Yes, I am dramatic.
But it's important that I listen to my gut.
My gut told me that I made a mistake in getting a new suitcase. When I struggled to carry it down my aunt's staircase I became uneasy. I envisioned myself trying to get down the stairs to the metro in Paris, tumbling down half way and crying all over my freshly baked croissant. Okay, okay, I know I'm dramatic. But It was getting under my skin. This big, clunky, heavy, and yet oh so beautiful suitcase, was under my skin. The itch was unpleasant.
So I went to my cousin, who gave me an old lightweight rolling duffle bag. I decorated it, and now I'm travelling with Venus. And feeling much better about my travels.
My gut wouldn't let me even write my pitch without informing my future family. Many would view this as a bad move, but my dramatic, sensitive, gut, would not let me be. Sure, I may not even get a column. But thinking with that kind of determination won't get me anywhere. I like to think that I already have it.
This morning I got an email back from Madame of the family, who said that of course, this is fine, all I have to do is change their names. She made a joke that she was not yet Anna Wintour, a reference to The Devil Wears Prada, and unlike her she has blonde hair. I can't help but feel warmly to this woman already.
Is it dramatic to listen to my gut? Well with mine, possibly. But it's nothing compared to the inner drama I would have to deal with if I didn't.
I'll take a bow to that.
But it's important that I listen to my gut.
My gut told me that I made a mistake in getting a new suitcase. When I struggled to carry it down my aunt's staircase I became uneasy. I envisioned myself trying to get down the stairs to the metro in Paris, tumbling down half way and crying all over my freshly baked croissant. Okay, okay, I know I'm dramatic. But It was getting under my skin. This big, clunky, heavy, and yet oh so beautiful suitcase, was under my skin. The itch was unpleasant.
So I went to my cousin, who gave me an old lightweight rolling duffle bag. I decorated it, and now I'm travelling with Venus. And feeling much better about my travels.
My gut wouldn't let me even write my pitch without informing my future family. Many would view this as a bad move, but my dramatic, sensitive, gut, would not let me be. Sure, I may not even get a column. But thinking with that kind of determination won't get me anywhere. I like to think that I already have it.
This morning I got an email back from Madame of the family, who said that of course, this is fine, all I have to do is change their names. She made a joke that she was not yet Anna Wintour, a reference to The Devil Wears Prada, and unlike her she has blonde hair. I can't help but feel warmly to this woman already.
Is it dramatic to listen to my gut? Well with mine, possibly. But it's nothing compared to the inner drama I would have to deal with if I didn't.
I'll take a bow to that.
posted by Gillian Young at 4:38 PM
8 Comments:
Gill,
Instinct is a quality that comes with experience, a foundation of knowledge from which you can make your decisions, set your course.
There is a reason we feel that twinge, that hesitation... and yet I know the conflict between trying to be acknowledge that "inner check" while trying also to take risks in life.
After having spent a lot of my 20's telling myself to ignore those little twinges, I now realize that I know myself best and that those "little red flags" need to be acknowledged. But this has only come from living, from trying different approaches, from learning from my decisions.
Girl, if you're already aware of your instincts, and already self-confident enough to go with them, then you are many steps ahead.
The luggage - beautiful. The open admission of your motives to the family - admirably ethical and moral (which is how journalists should treat their sources, no?). Embarking on an adventure in Paris - breathtakingly ambitious.
Bon voyage!
JennJ
Dear Gill,
I'm with Jenn. You are many steps ahead... especially of me. Remember in Santorini when I lugged that heavy suitcase up and down so many stairs - and called it baggage of the soul? Remember when I threw a fit in the hotel room and threw everything from my case, item by item around the room, swearing and cursing myself? And how I became wise, after the fact, and packed a box of superfluous items and forwarded it to France?
And how much easier it will be to write your column, knowing that the people involved know that you're writing about them from your perspective and not talking behind their backs.
You are extraordinary and I love you so.
What is with you are decorating suitcases, is it really necessary to wear your personality on your fuckign luggae.
ya u dont have to try and show the world your cool, let the important people find out.
For someone so adamant on being their own person, independant, and private, how can you wear your freaking personality on your LUGGAGE. It carries your stuff, not your soul. Kind of backwards don't you think. Unnecessary? Just a bit. I don't care how much pent up creative energy you have, that is just straight out ridiculous.
This blog is starting to scare me, it's like reading a overdone version of Chatelane or something. It's good, but come on ladies, lets spice things up a bit here.
Jesus. I feel like I'm being attacked. I don't think me painting Venus and a poem I enjoy is my personality. It's an attempt to liven up an old piece of luggage for Christ's sake, not seem cool. If I was trying to be cool I wouldn't bother. And I'm sorry if my honesty's not spicey enough, I'm just telling it as it is. Read Maxim if my blog doesn't please you, I aim to write how I feel, not entertain a crowd.
Interesting that the only negative comments were the unsigned ones. I enjoy your writing and your ideas and your luggage painting! Keep up the great work. -Rob
What anonymous writer said that a suitcase isn't soul? Doesn't have a personality? Both should spend a few hours at the airport, looking at the luggage carousel.
And you, who speak your truths so well, do not need to be crucified for them. If anonymous number three is scared by your blogs, why does he or she read them?
Who would attack you over a suitcase painted with the goddess of love? And a poem by Juan Raomon Jimenez? I don't understand why such artistry and playfulness can raise such hostility.
Don't let it get to you, Gill. Listen to Lucy, Jenn, and Rob.
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