a hat girl

I am a hat girl.
Always have been, and I am embracing that I always will be.

I remember my grandfather's driving cap: tan corduroy.
I loved that hat. It is one of my favorites.
I was a little girl: I remember it well sitting on his head- out and about town. It sat next to the station wagon keys. It smelled spicy- like him.
I ended up owning that hat.
I wore it in high school. They thought I was above embarrassment; that I had it together, that I knew who I was...
Sadly, I don't have it anymore. They were wrong.

Pulling together this crazy identity has taken time, is taking time. And the hats have come and gone. I wasn't sure. And then, I was. There were periods of hat-wearing-prowess. But then, wearing a hat takes a certain amount of confidence: people notice hat wearers. And sometimes, there have been many times, I didn't want to be noticed.

(You know what I mean.
You see those people, with those hats and wonder what they're all about.
There have been many times in the last 10 years, I didn't want people to see me. I didn't want to be seen. I avoided seeing...)

And now, I just don't care.
This person is not yet formed; but has the confidence to say so.
Questions form with confidence; not embrassement- there is yet a lot to learn.
So, I wear the hats. And if people look, that's okay.

Hopefully, they will see someone:
who loves to live
who loves to explore
who appreciates change and adaptation
who realizes that we've all got mistakes to make
who doesn't mind being wrong or changing her mind
among other things...

So, bring on the funky hats....oh, yea! I will wear them.
And giggle at the hat-hair underneath...