Look in My Eyes, Not at My Chest

My dad probably wouldn't approve of that title.

But don't fret, it too is a metaphor. 

(i do believe i could make a metaphor out of anything)

On September 11th my family and I went to see the flags at the Sandy City Hall.  Then we came home and helped Cassidy practice for her homecoming talent, aka we had a karaoke party.  I sang A Little Bit Stronger by Sara Evans and I'll admit it was empowering.  A sample...

"it doesn't happen overnight but you turn around and month's gone by and you realize you haven't cried.  Not givin' you an hour or a second or another minute longer- I'm busy gettin' stronger..."

See?  Oh, truth.  And every now and again I have that same moment and I realize that experience doesn't have me in its grasp anymore.  I don't sit and dwell on it. 

Which brings me back to point A. Sometimes I worry that people (ok mostly guys. but other people too...) look at the big DIVORCED stamp on my forehead before they take the time to actually look at me.  I know I'm shaped by my past, but I'm starting to realize that it doesn't define me. 

Ah, baggage.  C'est la vie