I was fretting about ‘losing my edge’ to a neighbor–someone I would’ve described as edgy or artsy, at least, a painter who wore gorgeous vintage dresses and tie-dye scarves, someone who carried an old sewing basket for a purse and actually really owned that motorcycle I seemed ready to ride.

This woman had also been trying to get pregnant for years. She never did.

So I’m fretting about staying cool, staying current, while the little ones romp; she says, “How do they benefit from your edge?” In case I was going to try to whip out something clever, she answers: “They don’t really benefit from your edge. At all.”

God Damn.

That was the beginning of the long slow slide, softer. She actually asked me to define ‘edgy,’ to shake down how much of that was posing, how much simply anger.

I think it’s much much easier to carry that edge than to be funny, smart, interesting, and up-to-date with some love handles and compassion. But I’m trying and am happy to see the subject brought up here!

Softer and oh, so much stronger.

Julie
Using My Words