My name is Lindsey, and I hate glitter.

I abhor glitter.

I work at an elementary school and I hate glitter.  When I have kids of my own, I will not buy, nor will I knowingly allow bulk glitter into my house.  I understand that there will be artwork, and I'll likely want to display it and some of it will involve the execrable stuff.  (Like that?)  In these circumstances I can assure you measures will be taken to contain the shiny, ever-sticking-to-your-skin mess.  I understand that it will be a near impossibility to keep the stuff from my house entirely, but what are we without goals?


Today we had lunch at an Indian place called Namaste, and it was fantastic.  Over naan and chai we discussed trips, recent as well as those still in planning.  Dublin.  Istanbul.  Scotland.  Conversations about how the education standards differ from place to place, and whose husband just got back from a long work trip criss-crossed each other over the table.  A comment about a future get-together brought up a recent one, and Sara explained what she at one time told her son to say when attempting to make new friends:  Hi, my name is Nick and I like to play with cars.  What a novel idea to introduce yourself with a quick detail about who you are - we should all try it.  Who can remember all the people you meet at any given event, but who'd forget Phil who secretly enjoys apple-tinis, or Jan who can't stand the color orange?  I think Sara's onto something interesting, if not potentially entertaining.

Then conversation shifted to listing the things that we simply cannot stand, those personal, quirky details that make us odd and fascinating to those who love us.  This is where the opportunity to really get to know your friends and all their weirdness reveals itself.  I imagined myself introducing my friends to others.

This is Diane, and she can't stand cotton balls.  (It's the noise they make when you rub them together.)

This is Amy.  Never show up to her house with Jello.  You may make her ill.

This is Farrah - please don't touch her face.

And this is Melody - I'm not sure if we're close enough for me to share hers, but it's a good one.

I love these girls because they're all different, they all have opinions, and they make me feel embraced.  Being the type of person who's always been better at one-on-one socializing, this is the first time in my life that I've enjoyed an actual group of friends, and not just friends, but friends who get along and actually enjoy each other.  This is the first time I've known so many diverse women in one place, at one time, and have felt comfortable in a room of more than two people openly participating in conversation.  Does that make me sound like a complete and utter dork?  I'm sure it does, but the introverted, socially awkward kid does eventually grow up.  As I looked around the table this afternoon I experienced a wash of gratitude, gratitude for the opportunity I have to do the things I do, see the things I see, and know the people I know here.  These girls are an important part of that.  Regardless of the particular depth of each connection, we're all connected, nonetheless, and that's the kind of comfort no one can turn down.

Another topic of conversation, briefly, was my writing.  Was I blogging?  Sara demanded to know why there was no daily update, and despite my defensive arguing to justify the days passed since my last entry, Amy nailed me with an irrefutable truth.  When I said I couldn't just write without something behind it, and what could I possibly write about every day, Amy said this:  If you commit to write something every single day, you'll start looking for things worth writing about - every day.  You'll make yourself look past the mundane.  And she was right.

This on top of a recent pep-talk from both Sara and Farrah regarding my self-expressed need for a life coach, as well as daily, or at least weekly blogging was enough to make me seriously consider taking on the challenge of daily writing.  I know what the books say about the importance of daily writing, and I say I want to be better, so it's time to put my money where my mouth is and jump in.  Dare I start numbering to force myself to acknowledge it?  The daily blog?  (Is it sad that my heart rate just shot up at the thought of actually doing that?)

So it begins.  I do not promise it'll be pretty, and I can guarantee some days will be random and messy, but I'm going to do it.  I'm going to test this widely-accepted and already tried approach to a more fulfilling writing life for myself, because honestly, you can tell me something all day and I won't doubt what you say is true, but I won't genuinely adopt it as truth in my life until I've discovered it for myself.  I have to reinvent the wheel.  Maybe it'll become so overwhelmingly bad that I'll find out I was never meant to be a writer.  But maybe it'll work, and I'll start finding more time to write in my day, and I'll start becoming more efficient in my writing, and I'll finish something.  Then maybe I'll like it.  And try to get it published.

Call this the first day of the daily, and I owe a big, fat thanks to all my coaches.  Thanks for caring enough to ask, and in some cases, enough to make me feel obligated and pressured to follow through.  So here it goes.

My name is Lindsey, and I hate glitter.


Day 1