Grateful

So I'm on the way home from getting my hair cut. I popped in quickly to H&M for a last minute check of the sale rack in case there is something brilliant I could wear to the Bye Bye Birdie opening tomorrow. I find something I'm not quite sure will work but it's only $20 so I buy it. If it doesn't work for the opening it could work for something else. The girl at the register plays the role of my own personal Rachel Zoe and helps me pick the right ($3) pair of earrings to match.

I walk to the subway, am tired, hungry and my feet are killing me. I swipe my card and hobble my way over to the bench to wait for the train and sit down next to a very pretty blonde girl who is probably in her mid-twenties. And she's really pretty. Like flawless skin and features pretty. Like... uber pretty. (Now in some NYC versions of this story, she would turn out to be a man. Not the case - just in case you thought that's where we were headed). She's just really pretty. Like almost bordering on LA pretty but in a NY outfit. Cool boots, skinny jeans (damn her), a great cropped jacket and chunky scarf with an adorable hat and waves and waves of long blonde hair. You know, TV hair, where it looks effortless but really it took 2 hours? But still, God bless her if she can do that to her hair herself. And then I notice she's reading Oleanna. Ah. Of course she is. That script in her hand is the perfect accessory to her outfit. She's an Actress. Makes total sense. Good for her. She's lovely, put-together and stunning.

Thoughts that run through my head include, well she could be right for that part. And, I wonder if she'd be better than Julia Stiles (who is playing it right now on Broadway - and whose performance I have not yet seen). And Ha, I wonder what she would think if she knew a casting director just sat down beside her. And then I think about my own sad outfit. Uncomfortable, outdated heels I bought over 5 years ago God-knows-where. Khakis that I just washed and are just a hair too short. A truly-past-its-prime "white" collared shirt under a purple scoop neck short sleeve shirt. Denim jacket that has become a bit too small. A scarf that's far more appropriate for spring than fall, but I picked it 'cause it had purple in it and it matched my shirt. New haircut though. And really cool earrings that Alison bought me in Santa Monica.

And I think about the two of us. Really cool gorgeous Actress. And slightly rumpled, hobbly old me. And suddenly? Suddenly, I'm just really, really grateful that I'm me. I think being her is great for her, and truly, this was one of the first times I remember looking at some fabulously dressed, stunning New York woman and NOT being jealous or envious or wish I had her legs, her hair, her outfit, her life. I was glad for her to be her and I hope she's loving it. I really do. But I'm just glad that I'm me. Bad shoes and all. I'm grateful I get to come home to a husband I love and change into my slippers, have a Corona Light, and (I'm sorry), take off my bra and blog a little. Because being her would make me tired. And isn't me. I truly hope she is loving it though. If what's happening on the outside could ever be an accurate reflection of what's happening on the inside, she is having a ball. And I'm glad.

So on a Wednesday night in October, I'm grateful God was smart enough to make her her and me, me. And I'm grateful to be at a point in my life where I can be grateful about it.