Hiking Through the Tundra

PSX_20180304_205342When I was at Brandeis, I was part the group that put on major concerts. By the time I got to my senior year, I was an old hand at the process of taking pieces of staging apart, wheeling equipment boxes onto the freight elevator, and helping the roadies load everything onto the truck.

My memories of my last concert in college aren’t very distinct. I don’t remember much about Third Eye Blind’s performance. I don’t remember how long it took to do set up and take down. And, I don’t remember it being an unusually cold night.

What I do remember is that during loadout, I somehow ended up stationed at the loading dock. That frigid New England air started to creep up on me. As the hours ticked away, the cold seeped deeper and deeper into my bones.

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These Calves are Made for Walking

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I have big calves.

I’m not being self-deprecating or indulging in a moment of low self-esteem. They’re big, and I’m reminded of it every time I try to tug on skinny jeans or almost bust a zipper pulling on a pair of knee-high boots.

The natural response, I guess, would be to dislike them. And I won’t lie, I’ve cast an admiring glance or two at thin-legged ladies. But, I’m proud of my calves.

My body is a gift from people whose names and faces and stories I will never know. Somehow, all the things that they were have come together into one big compilation – and that’s me.

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