Reason Number 0.5

A bicycle is a relatively uncomplicated machine that allows you to travel distances that are just barely not walkable. Mine has three gears, bouncing and clicking down intermittently cobbled, heavily pocked Brooklyn roads. Only one of the gears works, the middle one, which works out perfectly for my riding skills and moderate leg strength.

Unfortunately, I got a flat tire in the middle of a neighborhood with which I'm pretty unfamiliar, on my way to get my first haircut in TWO YEARS. My hair is very uninteresting, which makes me very happy, as I've now graduated to the stage in my adult life in which I crave follicular consistency over experimentation. After a billion not-quite-right yet exhilarating hairstyles I have finally found what actually works. I don't care about my hair at all. And I'm starting to not care that much about clothing, but not in a late-twenties-meandering-towards-pregnancy-and-therefore-flares way, more in a way like I've figured out what I need, I have most of what I need, I don't have the money for fun purchases, nor do I want to extend myself beyond what money I have. Simplicity. And I'm sick of having a closet that vomits clothing I hardly wear.

I don't want a Chanel bag. Not until I can actually afford one. Or maybe I don't want one at all.

I will always keep the deadstock Victorian boots I bought in Chamblee almost a decade ago, even though I haven't worn them once. I remember the lady I bought them from said "These aren't the perfect shoes for the fourth of July, but they'll be great other times." Paraphrased, for memory bias.

I think it's always important to question the things you think are unrelentingly true about yourself. I don't have to be the person who mixes patterns. Or, I am the person that mixes patterns, and I know that about myself when I'm wearing jeans and a grey sweater. What I choose to wear reflects my personality, but not so much that it actually matters.