The other day a friend excitedly showed me her new Ed Hardy sunglasses and I told her they were really cute. The truth is, I hated them. I don't get the Ed Hardy obsession. I think most of it looks pretty trashy.
It is very unlike me to tell you I like something when I actually don't. And you can usually tell by the look on my face anyway.
I am not good at hiding my emotions. But then again, I don't try that hard either.
I would rather be like me than be that person who tells you what you want to hear and can't be honest with you. This may sound hypocritical considering the Ed Hardy thing, but I justify this by saying - it was just a pair of sunglasses. If it had been a man she wanted to marry, I would have been honest. (And I have been honest in that situation, even though it was one of the most painful things I have ever had to say.)
I want to write a book. I have even started one and written several chapters. It's good. I am proud of what I have written. And the only thing that keeps me from finishing it is the fear of failure.
I recently reconnected with a former coworker (she was actually the boss of the boss of my boss, does that make sense?) who has decided to live in New York City for one year to fulfill a lifelong dream. I am both envious and inspired by her. I WILL live in London some day.