Sunday, March 18, 2012

Still celebrating a Sweet 16 with the Hoosiers


I was so loud cheering last night that Chef told me twice to keep it quiet so that the neighbors didn't call the police for domestic violence. I get a little loud. But you have to cut me some slack because it's the first time in ten years that the Hoosiers have been in the Sweet 16. So I can't just act like I've been there before. I've forgotten how it feels, and I'm not that cool.

It's something that I've known for a long time. Most of my life, really. My name is Ashley and I've never been cool. I'm also fairly certain that I will never be cool. I might be witty, or smart or slightly nerdy (I'm not full on nerd and doin't think I can go there either) or funny or odd, but cool is not something people would use to describe me. And I'm okay with that. More than okay, I like it like that. But the problem is that I live in one of the most self-proclaimed cool cities in the world. And cool seems to be important. Or at least extremes. Los Angeles is a city of extremes. Extremely pretty or thin. Extremely stupid or flippant. Extremely cruel or harsh. Extremely fake. It's alas extremely beautiful and lovely and fun.

I still love LA, but I'm having moments when I'm having a hard time finding my exact place here. It happened in Nashville too. I went through a period at almost the same time in my stay there when I wondered if I really belonged. The answer to that is the same as the answer to my LA life: yes, but feeling comfortable in anything takes time. . . Even your own skin.

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