Another National Chicken Month has come and gone. I know, it’s sad really.
But not really.
Because I for one am so over chicken. Not so much the food, but the ‘tude.
I’m sick to death of being chicken shit. Scared of silly things.
This occurred to me the other day when talking to a friend about a girl he’s seeing. A girl who is in her mid twenties. He asked me what I thought she was thinking about something. And just thinking back to this time in my life, which honestly seems like yesterday but really was almost a decade ago (yes, I’m 35), I realized I have no idea what she’s thinking. Because I don’t think the same way I did at 26. At all. Thank God.
Because when I was 26 I had it all together. I lived in a fancy house with fancy stuff and drove to fancy work in a fancy car. It was all eyerollingly perfect. Perfectly obnoxious. I looked good. But I had no confidence. And I was freaking scared to death.
In fact, when I think on my 26-year-old self, I can’t even believe it was me. It’s like a book I read or a movie I saw with a leading character, who was somewhat interesting and endearing, but frankly, sad. In a sad way. And in a pathetic way.
Because at 26, I was scared of being myself. Thinking my own thoughts. Making my own decisions. Speaking my own mind. And disappointing anyone. I was completely chicken.
Today, I’m so much more brave and grounded. In reality. And otherwise. I gladly gave up the fancy for the fantastic. To grow. To be assured, confident, resolved, comfortable, happy. All of it. And so much more.
But in some ways, ignorance is bliss. Then, I fretted about stuff I frankly don’t give a crap about now, to the degree I can’t for the life of me remember what it was. But today, I fear different things. I fear things for baby Hurricane. I fear that he’ll never have a sibling. I fear that sometimes I’m not sure I want him to. I fear for people’s health. I fear for highway accidents. I fear we value celebrity more than education. I fear extremists. I fear for our country. I fear. And I fear. And I hate it. Because I’m sick of it.
And I’m over it.
I’m not saying I have any more solutions, guarantees or resolutions for any of it. But I’m resoved to not be so effing scared anymore. Because what the heck good does that do?
So, I’m taking the fear-not to the next level.
For starters, I’m celebrating the last day of National Chicken Month at the beach with my boys. Fearlessly. Fearlessly in a bikini. And I’m declaring October the month of the brave. And the month of pumpkins.
Enjoy the last chicken recipe. Some chicken soup for your fearless soul.
(Or Chicken Soup for the Seoul, as we like to call it around here)
From Cooking Light
1 tablespoon vegetable oil
1 tablespoon bottled minced garlic
1 tablespoon bottled grated ginger
2 stalks fresh lemongrass, peeled
2 cups water
2 (14-ounce) cans fat-free, less-sodium chicken broth
1 pound chicken breast tenders, cut into bite-sized pieces
4 ounces uncooked angel hair pasta
1/4 cup chopped fresh cilantro
1 tablespoon fresh lime juice
1/2 teaspoon salt
2 green onions, thinly sliced
1 red chile pepper, finely chopped
Here, here. I need a month focussed on bravery. What else will you do besides the bikini?Trying to think back to '97. Oh yes, oof, that was what I'd call The Pivotal Year, where everything that could change did and everything that could be broken was. End of college, big fallout with all my friends, moved to Chicago and big fallout with sister. Bad boyfriend character introduced. Yikes. Don't take me back there. Did I have it anymore together by 26 years old (2000?) Uhm, frankly? No.May I suggest 2007 as the year of "can't stop/won't stop me"?
Fizz, I'm not sure exactly what all forms it will take. I'll keep you posted. But you definitely are an inspriation for me to not be afraid to get my arse moving.I'll second that suggestion. Let's do it!
Oh and did I mention, we're going to the beach with my husband's trainer and trainer wife. Just to raise the stakes a bit. But I'm fearless!
I was so with you until you got to the bikini part. Because that's crazy.And awesome.Between you and fizzle I feel like such a wimp. Gotta get out more and let go of the fear. Excellent topic!
I can't for the life of me remember where I saw this, but your post made me think of this quiz. It's a fun one, though it won't capture the deeper psychological growth you talk about in this post.
Found it! The place I originally saw the quiz was Mimilou. (I always like to cite my sources.)
Amen. I wouldn't be 26 again if someone offered me a private beach equipped with an all-you-can-eat buffet and a side of Johnny Depp. Not worth it.And I can't believe you are 35. I've seen the pictures. I'd a guessed… well… somewhere in the neighborhood of 26.
35 year old GcQ is great, my favorite version, in fact, but 25 year old GcQ was a lot of fun and she's the one that taught you to be 35 year old version. And she's the one that made me a lot of great mix tapes.
Good luck with your new resolve! And thanks for stopping by my place the other day. I'll be back to visit your site again, too!
I thought you were great at 20. The 20 year old GcQ was going to be a florist, and I loved that. But I love you the most now. And not just because the 35 year old you has the Hurricane!!According to the poll, I have changed 48% in the last 10 years. If it was mathematically possible, it feels like I have changed 366%.Up with brave! Up with change!
BaP, cool quiz. And Jeez, I've changed 76%. Which means, I'm only 24% of who I was at 24.KCG, mixed tapes. Good times. SZ, wow. You're right. How different would my days be now if I were a florist. I think technically at 20, I already was a florist. House of Greenery, baby.
ah, forget '97. forget 26, it was at 16 that you rocked my world, set me on a path to where i am today, to where you've finally come back. you were brave, girl, boldly you. 1987. "don't you forget about me" and all that.live. love. laugh.overdue thanks, GcQ, for being you.juan de huaco
jon p, that's the nicest comment ever. Thanks! To celebrate, I think I'm going to go eat something blue.