I wore a red dress on my wedding day. I didn’t wear red to make a statement, fashion or political or anything in between. I didn’t wear red because it is the color of love, or because my husband and I were married a mere 12 days before Christmas. I wasn’t trying to be different. It just ended up working out that way.
When I woke up on Friday morning and looked around our tiny bedroom, with only a few things packed and too much left to do, I kind of knew that it was the last morning I’d see in that apartment. [Read more…]
So here we are. Married. Married and moving, all the way across the country. If I were to tell my younger self, my ego-centric and narcissistic 16-year-old self, that at 26 I would pack up all my belongings, put my career on pause, get married and drive to New Mexico in a 2004 Tacoma with my new husband so he could pursue an opportunity for happiness and self-fulfillment, I would have to laugh. I would not believe a word Older Me says, because that is not the life I thought I wanted. I was supposed to be a magazine editor in New York, or an attorney in Chicago, or any other job that would allow me to wear a pair of patent leather pointy-toe pumps on a daily basis.
Turns out, high heels really are a bitch. [Read more…]