Of Small Little Love Stories And Perfectly Imperfect Cake
An ode to the roads not taken, the butterflies that returned, and the beauty of being human. And the beautiful, ridiculous ways life finds us again. Someone recognized me by my hair the other day. Not my face. Not my voice. My hair. From behind. In a parking lot. Now, under ordinary circumstances, this would be a completely unremarkable event. People recognize people. That's generally how human civilization functions. Except I had been attempting a disappearing act. I had arrived with a secret little mission, spotted someone I was trying to surprise, and immediately retreated into my car with the urgency of a criminal fleeing a crime scene. Mission accomplished, I thought. Until later, when a casual conversation revealed that my flawless escape had been compromised by my own hair. I laughed. But somewhere beneath that laughter was a tiny, embarrassingly happy thought. You noticed me? How ridiculous that something so small could mak...