Sometimes I Get Carried Away

As I sit and type any blog post, including this one, I envision myself as Carrie. Carrie Bradshaw. She is the epitome of what any woman, at least my kinda woman, strives to be. She is trendy, finds a way to buy the shoes she doesn’t need, and she is smart. She has such a way with words and continues to be fabulous through the ages. She knows her worth. I know my worth. I know what I have to offer. I am TOTALLY a Carrie. 

I am also a B. (No, not a bitch— but I mean don’t test me because I can be when necessary.) B as in Blair, the infamous Blair Waldorf. Now this I struggle with a bit, because I am not a mean person. As much as I love Blair and idolize her closet, I am not fully her. Her infatuation with fashion and need for a scheme is what I connect with. I own a boutique {} and I am always up to something. I’m not devising anything diabolical, it is actually the contrary. If I want to do something, I do it— better yet I find a way to make it happen. 

I am Barbie. (Some friends even call me that. It started at a tennis tournament I work each summer. PRO tournament, to be exact, which is full of beautiful shirtless men. Sorry for getting off track, but its basically heaven for a week. Some of the guys started calling me Barbie and I can tell you I LOVE THAT SHIT. I played it up and waved to them with pretend plastic hands the whole nine yards. I'm getting wistful, back to the point.) I am blonde, and truly having more fun. (So its dyed— SUE ME.) Sometimes I smile so much it physically hurts. I am typically happy and bubbly 24/7. Sometimes I wake up singing (but if you’re not a morning person I get it. I won’t talk to you. AKA my college roommate BRITT.)

I am Cher. Sadly not the dark haired beauty who’s got you babe. Cher from Clueless. I am dying to have a rotating closet and I was a very similar new driver. (Your girl failed the first test and should definitely not have been on the roads. It was a good thing and a blessing to all Kentucky drivers. I’ve also come a long way just in case you were curious.) It would also pain me to give up an Alaia, even held at gunpoint. Lets be real though, my equivalent would be “this is Kate Spade.” 

I see myself as all these leading ladies. Carrie, Blaire, Barbie, Cher. In my own life: I am the star. I am the narrator. I am the character that everyone wants to be. But what about my supporting actresses? My mom, my sister, my friends. To me, they are the Charlottes, Samanthas, Mirandas, Serenas, Theresas, and the Dionnes of my life. Though, to them that is what I am. To those I love most, I am the sister, the best friend, the daughter. I am Charlotte. I am Theresa. 

It is so easy to get caught up in our own lives, focused on our own troubles, and lost in our own daydreams. We forget that in real life there is no one heroine, no single hero. Our existence is all about perspective. It is such a powerful thing and we must strive not to lose sight of it. Seeing both sides, putting yourself in another’s shoes, having empathy— these are the very ideals that make us human.

SO BE CARRIE. Work those new pumps and make Big chase you to Paris. BE BLAIRE. Build your empire and marry Chuck (Chuck Bass— read this as he would say it.) BE BARBIE. Be freaking fabulous at literally every occupation known to man. BE CHER. Play matchmaker with two lonely makeover needing souls. More importantly don’t forget to be Charlotte, be Dorota (LOL not necessarily a maid but you get the point), be Theresa, be Dionne. Be supportive to those closest to you, because to them you are the understudy and they are performing opening night. 

Be genuinely happy when something goes well for your closest confidants. Be supportive, and honest when the truth is needed. Remember that not every episode in a season of life is about you. Realize when to shine and when to close the cap on the glitter bottle. Be the sun AND the moon. Each knows when its time to let the other do its thing and the world keeps spinning because of it. 

To my lovers and my haters:

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