I’m writing this on my phone as I’m getting a pedicure in preparation for the writer’s retreat that starts tomorrow afternoon. Why am I getting a pedicure? My feet are a bit crusty. Why don’t I go walk barefoot along the beach to smooth of my feet while I'm on retreat? I have writing to do. Will anybody see my feet? No, but I will.
I’ve had a couple of conversations today with people going to the retreat. There seems to be a lot going on in the universe. This is a time for all of us to unwind, relax, be pampered, and take some time for ourselves.
One friend is bringing her daughter for the first time. She mentioned that she was looking forward to having her hang out with all these cool people.
My response was to say “But I’m not cool!”
She came back to me quickly. “Pandora, you are the coolest.”
Nah.
I mean, what is cool? How do you define if somebody is cool?
There are a lot of other adjectives which describe me quite well. I know that I’m kind. I know that I’m fairly intelligent. I’m very resilient. And yes, I identify as a witch, as much as I identify as being a woman, heterosexual, fat, menopausal, left-leaning, outspoken, a writer, skinny-ankled, a black cat's mother, physically strong and a thumb sucker.
But cool? Nah.
I mean, what is the definition of cool? There are so many, I looked on the internet and this one struck a cool:
A word we use to describe anything we find intriguing or unique – something or someone that catches our eye and tests the depths of self-expression and imagination that we commonly confine ourselves to. Regardless of time, to be described as “cool” is a compliment that will never go out of style.
I still don't think that's me.
Maybe it's to do with the lack of self-esteem I had for most of my life. Although it's a lot healthier now, I still can't get over people might thing I have something to offer. I'm very good at hiding myself away.
And sure, I pull off bovver boots, black jeans, a Ramones t-shirt and red lippy, tousle my hair and go visit the Francis Bacons in the art gallery - but that doesn't make me cool either.
Is it that I don't really give two cahoots about much?
Is it because I am quirky? (or neurodiverse/mad/weird - find your own description)
Is it my friends being nice?
I dunno.
My younger self would have adored this validation. Now I'm not so sure.
Baby Pandora, aged around 21. Wannabe baby goth. Adelaide girl. Here she is thinking she's the fattest, ugliest thing on the planet. She doesn't know what she's going to become. Maybe she is cool after all.)
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