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I haven't taken pictures in such a long time. I feel beat up here, in South Dakota, my skin, my spirit.
A maintenance guy, someone I really like actually, asked if I was taking a selfie as I took a picture of something at work. I was caught up in texting my supervisor, trying to figure out why I was taking half the house on an outing alone, snapping a picture of the schedule to show her, although I wasn't sure if this happened per her instructions, a ration of 6 people supported to 1 worker - surely unsafe. His question made me laugh for a second. He stood close by as I spoke softly into my phone, the sounds becoming text. I don't use that voice at work often, it's usually reserved for friends.
It's funny to me how grounding reflections are, getting caught up in the puns, which betray a sort of familial relationship, a hidden connection between our inner and outer worlds. I started my last blog, which has since become, I'll admit, an poorly executed anonymous blog, as my hub for fashion and beauty, a dairy to femininity actually, after feeling like I had to turn so many part of me down, tucking away my breasts, my hair, my hips - the things that told the world I was a woman, the things that told myself and others I didn't belong in the logical, emotionless business world.
Here we are again - heading into a scary world, and here I am again - finding space along the margins. I love this journey actually, even if it is quieter, less dopamine-y. It's a quiet street in a college town during the summer, when all the students are away doing internships, working summer jobs at the beach.
And that's the way I like it.
(For context: Inside Mark Zuckerberg’s Sprint to Remake Meta for the Trump Era by Mike Isaac, Sheera Frenkel and Kate Conger)
