Cry as much as you want. Be that girl in the corner, drunk on Benadryl and Franzia, eating all the pizza and crying. Babies cry when they’re uncomfortable, when they don’t know how to say they’re unhappy. Don’t get it twisted— you’re not a baby. What I’m saying is when there’s no vocabulary for it, there is only sensation, a feeling that something is not right. You’ll say far too often, I don’t know why I’m crying, but you know why you’re crying. One night, a person you think you could love yells at you about your missing hair tie, and you feel small. Whatever you do, don’t hold in the tears on your way to the grocery store. If you do, your throat will swell like a volcano full of wails, and tears will leak out anyway, and you will soak your jacket sleeves wiping salt water from your cheeks, and you’ll pretend your sniffles are allergies in December, and you will see your reflected face, all shadow in the car window, and you will feel so small. And your heart will grow small too. It will clench itself like a toothed fly trap, shutting in and swallowing all the flies, using them for food.
So my Mom called me a Swiftie today and for some reason it really just hit me. An overwhelming feeling of pride overtook my emotions and I even shed a tear. I think we sometimes tend to forget how privileged we are to have Taylor as someone to look up to. How lucky are we that we were born in this era ?! One day people will look back and see all the record books filled with her name and her songs will be categorized as classics and we will be sitting on our rocking chairs on the front porch saying to our grandkids… I was there. I bought her CD’s. I attended her concerts. I got to meet her etc. How insane is that?!