Bold and Daring

One of the characters commented that women always change their hair when changing something else about their life. I think of this as I stand before the aisle of boxes of possibility. I choose ruby red. It occurs to me that my chameleon tendencies stretch much further than my hair. Tuesday night I dye my hair this new bold color.

Even now the color has begun to blend in a bit, and I know that over the next couple of days it will seem quite ordinary, but for now, I revel in the brazen fiery brightness of it. I like that it is different. I like that it is bold and daring. I like that it is a color, a personality, a way of thinking, that I've never tried before. I like that it matches exactly how I'm feeling.

My friend's mother died on Tuesday morning. She was 99. She had led a full, happy life and had passed believing there were flowers growing upon her bedspread, which she gently plucked and tasted and showed to her daughter. They had been together for her final breath. They had been together through it all.

We gathered at their house last night to sit Shiva. We didn't know anyone else there aside from a few select family members and of course, each other, our coworkers. We drank and ate and laughed until our stomachs hurt. We talked about how we had become a family.

It's funny how that happens. After high school, I had sworn that I would never find friends like those I had made there. I would never feel that same sense of belonging with anyone. I would never create another family that I loved so tenderly, so whole heartedly, so unconditionally.

My first real job was in a small office. I made friends there, of course, but I never understood the mentality that your work friends could become a second family. I didn't feel connected to them. I didn't feel as though I belonged. The office was almost always silent except for the sound of keyboards and my own voice answering calls I did not care about. We had discussions about current events and weather and a few details of our lives, but overall, there was nothingness. There was obligation to get along with the people I worked for.

Today marks my seventeen month anniversary at my new job. The friendships I've made there are why it's been seventeen months. I see those women more than anyone else in my life, than my own real family. I tell them everything. They tell me everything. Something wonderful has been created. It continues to create, to grow, to evolve into the kinds of bonds I didn't think I'd ever experience again. We have become more than coworkers, than even friends. We have become a family.

My best friend there, the one I open the school with each morning, the one I have discussed every detail of my life with, the one I am jokingly married to, is the sister I have always wanted. We are currently beginning the process of looking for a house to buy together. We are endlessly excited, and spend a great deal of our time making plans of things we want to buy, colors we want to paint each room, parties we want to have. It will be a new beginning for both of us. It will be a color palate, bold and daring.

Sometimes I wonder if we are moving too quickly, if seventeen months really is enough time to know that we can live together happily, if it really was meant to be, as we so often say. But then I think about times like last night, when it felt so perfect, when we felt like family. I think about posts I've written recently, about promising myself I wouldn't shy away from opportunities simply because there is a slight possibility that they won't work out in the end. I think about how every morning I am grateful to see her, to have her by my side, to have someone I feel as comfortable talking to as not talking to. I think about how the plans we are making thrill me more than any I've made on my own in a while. And I think about the way it really might just be something that was meant to happen.

I think about my ruby red hair, and the forceful tone it sets for my life. Bold and daring, we enter something new, as coworkers, as friends, as family.