Hipster Babies, Little Black Dresses, and Zoom Calls

Hipster Babies, Little Black Dresses, and Zoom Calls


Last evening, I changed purses, something I often do, and if you know me, you know I have an entire closet filled with purses I can choose from. This morning, I grabbed my purse and my cart, which was filled with three large garbage bags stuffed with clothes I needed to bring to Goodwill, and headed to the elevator. Once I got to my car, I realized that I had left my car keys in my old purse. So I had to go back up the elevator dragging the cart behind me, to the apartment, dig through the old purse, get the car keys, and back down the elevator. I had left JUST the right amount of time to get to the office a few minutes before 9:00 am because of a weekly Zoom call (I don’t understand why people insist on scheduling Zoom’s at 9 am! Give a girl a chance to drink her coffee on the couch in her pj’s before she’s racing to the office, but I digress) and now I was running out of time. I stuffed those gigantic trash bags in the back of my car and headed down the road.

When I turned on the car the song Little Black Dress by Sara Bareilles came through my speakers that were on stun from my drive home last night and about scared me to death. The song, one of my favorites, was interrupted by Siri telling me a friend needed me to find her a cute little hipster baby and could I find one wandering around Nashville; once I told her I would keep my eyes peeled, I restarted the song and remembered how that the song was on repeat when I closed my bakery. It was what got me through those really dark, dark days. That song will always have me reflecting on those days ten years ago and how I didn’t think I’d ever get out of bed, let alone have a life I loved. But as I was driving to the office, faster than I should have been because of the aforementioned Zoom call, I thought about my current life.

I don’t recognize the Gina who closed her bakery. I don’t think, well I know, she didn’t think her life would ever be happy. She didn’t think, buried under the duvet listening to Sara Bareilles, that she would ever feel fulfilled. I couldn’t even imagine in those dark days the potential that the future held for me. I could barely imagine leaving the apartment. In the ten years that have flown by since that little shop around the corner shut its oven door for the last time, I’ve traveled the world: Australia, Saudi Arabia, Dubai, Belgium, Amsterdam, South Africa, and Cuba. I’ve been to 48 of the 50 States. I work with people who are more family than coworkers. I’ve learned how to live on a tour bus for months at a time. I’ve learned how to live out of a hotel room for the same amount of time. I’ve learned terms like up riggers and down riggers, bus stock, and Gross Potential.

Don’t get me wrong, life hasn’t been all rainbows and butterflies for me, last year I was diagnosed with Mild Cognitive Impairment. I have some really good days and some not-so-good days, but thankfully, mostly, the days are good. My sweet little chickens are thriving in their adult lives with their beautiful wives that I’m lucky enough to love like they were my own chickens. Things here in Nashville are starting to bloom, and there is the ever-hopeful promise of a clean start that Spring always brings. There will be daylight savings in five days, bringing with it longer days with more sun. In a month, my husband and I will relocate to a little town just outside of Chattanooga to our dream house that has taken over a year to build. I anticipate many mornings sitting on one of my porches, perched high on the mountain, coffee in hand, not racing to any 9 am Zoom calls.

Ten years ago, I didn’t believe Sara Bareilles when she told me it was going to be OK. But I listened to her advice, drew a different picture, and painted it with the colors of everything I ever was. With the help of my dear husband, I dusted myself off, found my little black dress, fought hard to remember who I was and that I could do hard things, and danced my way into a happily ever after.

I guess the point of this rambling post is to remember that you can do hard things, even when you don’t believe you can. You can always dust yourself off and start over. If I can do that very thing, there is no doubt in my mind that so can you.

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