I love my hairstylist. Love him. Not because he’s good at what he does, or because he’s tall and broad-shouldered with a sexy, baritone voice.
He’s just cool
Being gay and raised in a strict Mormon household, he’s endured pain, reflection and therapy to be confident with who he is. So in addition to being practically exotic in my Stepford town, he is soulful.
Last time I went, he told me he’d been getting signs from “the universe.” He believes that if we send out our requests out to the universe, the universe will respond.
“Isn’t that the same concept of prayer and God?” I asked.
“You could say that” he said. “But the point is to listen and pay attention. There are always signs or little nudges – you just have to be aware.”
So two weeks ago, the freelance project I’d been working on was starting to suck. The client was stressed and angry about all sorts of things, and her frustration was directed at everyone, including me. And since pleasing sadly defines me, I felt wounded. Maybe I can’t do this, I thought. Maybe ten years at home has made me ineffective at anything beyond making beds and wiping chins.
So I limped over to my laptop and posted on my blog, the blog I’ve been ignoring. And then by some strange stroke of luck, the post is featured on Freshly Pressed. I learned this at lunch when my email was besieged with amazing comments from people I didn’t know. And it didn’t stop – for two days. Hour by hour, strangers telling me they liked what I’d written or that they agreed with me. People sharing their own stories with me, from places like South Africa.
I tried to respond to every comment, I’m so grateful — but with my job and it being the first two weeks of school, I am still working on it. Every comment has meant something.
So I’ve shoved into some bootstraps and am getting on happily because of the encouragement that came to me in not-so-random droves.