The other day as I was driving home from work, I spotted a license plate that read "NJBOYY." Now, this caught my attention for 2 reasons:
1. I grew up in New Jersey, so any time I see the letters NJ it catches my attention.
2. I'm amazed that anyone is so committed to their persona that they are willing to put it on a license plate.
Personally, I define myself differently on a daily basis - sometimes hourly - which is why it has taken me a couple of weeks to add any descriptive information to my Blogger Profile - and it is likely to change quite frequently. Leo considers my identity crisis a fatal character flaw, and pretty darn annoying to boot.
He just doesn't understand how right this minute I can be completely over the moon about vintage aprons, Amy Winehouse, mid-century design, and making beaded jewelry. But I could wake up tomorrow and hear some Middle Eastern music and be completely back in "Bellydance" mode - agonizing over whether to bother taking lessons again, hauling out my few precious CDs, and trying to figure out if I can get away with wearing a bright red coin scarf around my hips to work. (Leo can't believe I ever committed to marrying him.)
Perhaps this is some sort of flaw, or sickness. Am I a dilettante? I sure have a lot of different types of art and crafts that I've read about, bought supplies for, started projects on and not finished. Do I have ADD? Is it because I'm a Pisces?
The funny thing is when I was younger I didn't seem to have this problem. I very carefully cultivated my image: Funky Artist Girl, Biker Chick Wannabe, Goth Girl Lite, and finally Ms. Normal. I got to a point where I either needed to start piercing parts of myself or do something even more shocking. So I opted for maximum shock value and went shopping at the GAP.
After years of wearing big black boots and dressing all in black, I showed up for work one morning in a sweater twin set and a floral skirt.
Meanwhile Ms. Normal has become Mrs. Boring. Because I can't commit to anything I can't find a new personal style. I'd like to wear cotton dresses from the 1940's or 50's, but it's a good bet that by the time I figure out where to get some (or how to make them) I'd be long past caring.
It's exhausting, I tell you.