Don't Tint Your Windows

Hello Friends! I almost said “Happy New Year!”, but it’s uh…March. That all happened rather quickly, didn’t it? We went from fireworks in the air to fireworks in our sinuses. My fellow allergy sufferers, I both sympathize and empathize with you. (Don’t forget to take your allergy pill.)

It’s funny, I usually get most of the inspiration for these posts in my car. I’m not sure what that means, but the car theme heavily influences the rest of this today, so bare with me if you can. (And, you can 😂.)

I used to really want to tint my car windows. You see, I have frequent car concerts complete with pointing choreography (because…limited movement while safely driving), and I’m usually singing my little heart out. I have no idea how I looked, but sometimes I’d catch a glimpse of someone watching and I’d say “Man, I really need to get these windows tinted.” I was embarrassed that someone caught me being myself and I was ready to hide. No big deal right? I mean, who wants to end up on someone’s IG or Snapchat (do people still use that app?) story anyway? Plus, tinted windows provide more privacy, and there is nothing wrong with that. Except I was carrying this concept of hiding over into my life outside of the car. Sometimes I’ll randomly break out in song in public (not loudly) or catch myself doing a little shimmy or something when food is good at a restaurant, (when food is really good you can’t help but move a little) and immediately get self-conscious.

I have this thing about not wanting to look foolish or be embarrassed in public. It took me awhile, but I finally realized where it came from. I’ve written about this in a poetry anthology that I had the privilege to contribute to and maybe even another blog post, but I’ll give the backstory again: In 6th grade, I was pulled out of school for seemingly no reason by my father’s second wife. I was very confused because we never checked out early. I lived in a constant state of hypervigilance because well, she used to hit me. Hard and often. I dreaded going home because it was such a hostile and unsafe environment. I knew the exact route we would take home every day, and I knew that if we made any deviation from the route, it meant I didn’t have to go home right away, and I would feel a tiny bit of excitement. Well, I was checked out of school, and we didn’t take the usual route, so I knew we weren’t going home. I was excited until we pulled up to an unfamiliar part of the city. It was a sketchy apartment building. We went in and there was a single barber’s chair in the middle of the room. I walked in with a head full of luscious hair and walked out with just about none. Embarrassment didn’t even begin to cover how I felt. I was confused. I remember her saying “Since you won’t take care of your hair, I’m cutting it off.” I was 12.

Fast forward to that summer, my hair was growing back, and I had a legitimate afro. I was on a bus to one of the overnight summer camps, and we were split up, girls on one side, boys on the other. Obviously, I sat on the side with the girls, and started talking to one of the boys on the other side. When we got off the bus he said, “Hey man, us guys are over here”, and he waved me over. I was confused, and I said “Um, I’m a girl.” Everyone laughed, and my face was probably as red as a vine ripened tomato. That embarrassment followed me into adulthood, and I vowed that I would never put myself in an embarrassing position again.

So, today at the big age of 29, I run from embarrassment. My 40-yard dash time is a 4.0 flat. But it was exhausting, and perfect is boring. I realized that my ability to make a jingle of anything, that little dance I do when food is good, and my car concerts are the quirks that make me…well me.

So now, I don’t want to tint my windows. My car concerts are here to stay.

Cheers to loving yourself and your quirks. Keep it up.

Love always,

CDOG