Last week a friend mentioned she was surprised to discover I listen to Animal Collective. I wanted to tell her I also listen to Bon Iver, The Xx, and Jack Penate, but I felt that was trying too hard. But I do. Listen to them. I mean, yes, I love me some Ke$ha and Rhianna (and other music that might make Paulie D proud), but the tuneage cranking through my house is often indie. JD makes fun of me and insists I'm trying to be one of the cool kids, but I secretly think he likes my taste. Specifically, in men.

And herein lies who I am. A thousand mismatched pieces making me a walking flea market of experiences.

I know the person I project to be (heels, enough mascara to make Tammy Faye Baker jealous, and a fluffy white dog)…I know the person I want to be (bought these jeans at a thrift store and refurbished them with burlap and mulch, and move over Mother Teresa!)…and I know the person I am (my closet wouldn't even make Mary Poppins jealous, I read at night with illuminated frameless glasses, and obsess over the quality of my dental floss). And through it all, I'm trying to stay true to who I am.

There are moments when I want to be everything to everyone, then pass out performance reports on my progress in hopes of getting above a 94%. Because I was coddled as a child and positive reinforcement was all the rage in the 80s. Perhaps one day I won't feel like I'm wearing a costume in my heels, or maybe I will go thrifting in tattered penny loafers and stockings. Until then, I'm totally okay finding my own way. Double-waxed dental floss and all.

Here's a picture from our last wedding. Just before dinner. JD said to give him the Look I give him when I'm upset. Look at that eyebrow arch…that arch makes lions stop mid-prowl and turn around the other way.