This is, as I have previously asserted, The Year Things Happen. I stick to it. Things are happening. Sometimes more slowly than I would like, sometimes more quickly than I expect, but overall, things are happening.
And the more things happen, the busier I get. I am in the middle place right now, balancing new writing jobs with personal assistant responsibilities and the tremendous work of collecting new clients. Oh yes, and the work of editing my beloved novel, which haunts me in my dreams saying, "Don't forget your truest dreams, Little One. Don't forget your truest dreams." That's right, my novel calls me Little One. I never asked her to, but she doesn't ask permission; she just acts.
I digress. The point is that my dear friend and (former) cosmetology student, Nora, texted me yesterday afternoon to ask if I wanted to go out after work.
I told her, as I generally do on weeknights, that I was busy. I asked her what was up.
"Nothing," she texted back. "Today was my last day of [cosmetology] school and I thought it might be nice to celebrate. But it can wait till Saturday."
I responded with a vague apology and some gibberish about how I'd have more celebratory energy on Saturday anyway and closed my phone. And then I realized how stupid it was to turn such an invitation down.
It had been Nora's last day of cosmetology school. It was almost two years since I sat in the passenger's side of her car, listening to her talk about all the new hair products she bought for school as we cruised toward the beach, celebrating her last free Saturday before school snapped her up. I thought about how excited she was then, how she has become the best stylist I've ever had, how she is looking forward to what is bound to be a brilliant career . . . and how she said she was going to do something, and then she up and did it.
Nora, like many of my friends, has been a big support to me as I've stumbled my way into drawing up a serious writing career. She has cheered me on, and she has inspired me with her own goal-chasing. Skipping out on a night of dancing to work on my neglected novel is one thing . . . ducking out on a celebration of the Society of Girls With Dreams is quite another.
I called her immediately after I sent my sloppy, "Sorry, see you Saturday" text and made a date for happy hour. Over sangrias and quesadillas, I toasted her genius and felt my heart swell with gratitude for mutual support and a good excuse to go out on a weeknight.
Tonight has been an especially productive night; I think checking in with the Society of Girls With Dreams has reenergized me. And so I publicly extend my contratulations to Nora and my thanks to Nora and to Angie Frazdz and to Sister Angie and to Nikki and to my parents and my brothers and all the other angels who hover around me, offering their support and giving me the honor of being a (somewhat sloppy) support to them.
Thank you. With Love, From Abi.