Call me crazy but sometimes I like being sad, it feels comfortable like my favorite knit sweater. It’s hard to take off because I love wearing it- the sadness and my sweater. It’s easier to feel this way when Josh is out of town and I am alone all the time. Old ways of thinking slowly return, voices that tell me I will never be good enough, and like a good friend, I agree.
Maybe I have more unpacking to do with a therapist. Maybe I should actually find a therapist. I set out to find one nearly 7 years ago and accidentally landed myself in a standup comedy class. I’ve been doing comedy ever since and still no therapist. Being a comedian without a therapist is like being a trapeze artist without a net- you’re flying high until you crash down into the nothingness. Not such a fun gig then, is it? I’d start looking for a therapist now but I’m just so tired of spending money on everything… everything except sweaters. I’d spend every last penny I had on sweaters if I could. No more dentist appointments or oil changes or monthly payments, just sweaters in a variety of colors.
I think my love for sweaters began with Mister Rogers changing into his colorful cardigans at the beginning of Mister Rogers’ Neighborhood. My family played a guessing game every episode for what color sweater Mister Rogers might pull out of the closet. “Red!” “Yellow!” “Blue!” “Green,” we’d all yell as my dad kept track of who guessed correctly each time. He tried to further the game into guessing if Lady Aberlin would wear her hair up or down, but with only two options, that portion of the game didn’t stick around as long. Perhaps this is also where my lack of haircare comes from. With only so many ways to wear one’s hair and so little color options, why bother? How about another sweater?
I currently have a sweater collection that would bury Mister Rogers, were he not already buried. Sorry, that still feels too soon. I’m also not the jabbing type of comedian. I thought I’d dip my toes in the dark comedy pool but I don’t think I like it. While I don a much wider variety of colorful sweaters than Mister Rogers, to his credit, my mother did not make any of my sweaters, as his did. And much like I learned from Mister Rogers, he’s not my competition, he’s my neighbor, my friend.
Often times when I am feeling down, as I have recently, I go for a walk. Sometimes I listen to music and dance as I walk in an attempt to get the endorphins going. Other times I walk quietly, taking in the sounds of the birds and the wind blowing through the trees. I find myself starting to wonder what will become of my life? Will I ever get further or simply be content with who and where I am now? As I notice the thoughts starting to spin faster and the voices beginning to chime in, I stop. I take a deep breath to reset, and I look around.
It really is a beautiful day in the neighborhood.
And for now, that is enough.
jj barrows 