People have always complained that I'm too loud. My voice carries and the result isn't always euphonious. I'm the one that you can hear all the way across the restaurant/the bus/the lobby/the café. The one making the inappropriate remarks at the top of her voice. The one whose passionate opinions sometimes feel like a frontal assault. The one who is dying for you to be passionate and articulate enough about what you believe to convince me that I've been wrong about everything all along. I'm the one you look askance at sometimes when you think that I'm not looking. The one you sometimes wish was you. The one that you're mostly grateful you are not. The one who is called toward the great demotic flood of pedestrian humanity and the extraordinariness of the ordinary. The one who craves idealistic purity but lives with my hands dirty up the elbows with gorgeous quotidian life. The one who gets involved with all the wrong people, takes home strays, adopts lost causes, makes poor judgments, says all the wrong things and rages against disappointment because I've sworn to live with the consequences and to live without regret. Growing up meant realizing that this was going to be difficult.
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