On Cool

Today the thought crossed my mind, without carrying much weight because I made sure to use a really sarcastic tone in my thought-voice, "my life is in shambles, and I don't have any accomplishments at all..."

Then, this thought came, unbidden, directly behind: "at least I'm cool."

*facepalm*

I based this conclusion on the awesome song I was listening to, the marginally creative car-dance moves I had going, (I really mixed up the beating on the steering wheel gamut,) and my outfit that I proudly threw together in 2 seconds. (Really, A, you didn't invent cutoffs, get over yourself.)

The problem here, friends, is that at almost 23, I must step back and wonder if the concept of "cool" holds any value, if being "cool" gives ME any value, if "cool" is real, as it is based on nothing and entirely subjective...

"Yes!" My emotional inner soul cries, "Cool is real. You can't see it, but you can FEEL it." It's that beautiful in-between. Not what you are naturally, not what you choose to do with it--cool is HOW you do it. And for some people, it is natural, and for some people it is a choice, but it's all a non substance, not the real thing, not the real point of it all, just decorating the fringe like. . . colorful fringe. . . 

But I have to believe that it holds substance! It's the mise en scene! It's the mojo! If Austin Powers can fight for it than so can I!

And quite frankly, it is all I have right now: my youth and a modicum of style. So if I must make something out of nothing, so be it. 

I'll let my style hold up who I am for now. I will be the most awesome skeleton there ever was. All sexy bones and no meat, blood, heart or soul. . .and maybe someday, my pursuit of the empty will become full, as some freak side effect perhaps, because I sure don't have a plan, and I'll inadvertently accomplish something and hopefully realize I had been flesh all along.