Peppy Purple

Today I managed to type three new pages of my second chick lit novel. At this rate it will be completed when I'm no longer relevant. Of course that assumes I'm relevant today.

What gives us the value of being heard? What makes people listen? What makes words or feelings relevant anyway?

I think maybe it isn't what we say, but who we say it to that matters.

I remember begging my mom to paint my walls peppy purple ( a color very close to the shade of this font). I was five and I couldn't imagine a greater color on the four walls of my room. In fact I'd have painted everything in the room including the cat if she had let me. But the answer was no, for the cat and the bedroom. I didn't stop talking about that perfect color though and one day someone heard me and understood.

My uncles knew it wasn't just a color it was a statement. Maybe it was a statement to me as well as from me. Purple walls would speak affermations to me that told me I was big enough to make choices and that my choices were good, maybe even beautiful.

They snuck into our house while we were out of town and they covered my walls in that perfect hue. They even cover the dresser. They told me I was relevant. My feelings and my choices were of value.

It wasn't that my mom didn't agree to my value. She'd have died for me , she probobly still would. But she didn't understand. The color was ugly to her and maybe my love for it would die quickly and she'd have to re-paint. It wasn't what she imagined for me. What if I was wrong? What if she found something better?

Beauty is in the eye of the beholder. Relevance is judged by the hearer. I know a handful of beautiful people who say I am relevant. One of them is reading this right now. To you my words are as relevant now as they'll ever be. Whenever this crazy dream of a novel is complete you'll cling to every word. You are my peppy purple.