The past few days have taken this to a new level, as I returned to a quest (read: obsession) from last
After the stress of last week's bombing and lock down (I still can't believe that's a viable sentence), I re-engaged my mission to find an orange purse. Not just ANY orange purse, mind you, but the rarest of all orange purse species: the one that looks good with an Irish complexion. (In other words, I'm looking for the unicorn of orange purses.) I went to store after store, ignoring aisles stuffed with fabulous sales on things we actually need, in single-minded pursuit of this orange purse. I held dozens of them up to my side, considering whether each one would hold my laptop, what outfits they might work with. I realized that I like structured bags better than floppy ones, and that even though I'd love to return to my days of tossing a lip gloss and keys into a cute little bag, I need something big enough to hold a book. It was hours of searching and self-discovery.
In other words, it was a way to escape from real life.
Here's the thing: If this were an orange purse emergency, I have people who know orange purses. I'm friends with an entire family where every member went to either Princeton or UVA. They live in orange, whereas I barely considered orange a color prior to knowing them.
But this isn't an emergency, it's an escape mechanism. It's a way to channel my thoughts in a harmless direction for long enough to let my pulse stop racing and let the vitamin D from the sunshine (thank you, God, for this week's sunshine!) soak in. I don't have an orange purse yet. I might not ever find one. But in some strange way, the hunt is good.
Do you have an escape mechanism?
(More importantly: Do you have a line on an orange purse that compliments a purplish-pale complexion and a nose that's slightly pink from allergy season? I'm asking for a friend...)