The Day After the Hurricane

First and foremost, I am ok. The hurricane came and went, and we are picking up the pieces by volunteering and cutting one another slack and donating time and money and blood. Mom and Dad, do you believe in the reality of climate change yet?
I see the Hassidic women walking through Williamsburg every day. Some of them have dark brown hair, some have dark brown hair with subtle highlights, some have dark brown hair with bangs. These are all wigs. It is not that they are all born with the same hair color and texture and density, it is that they all shop at the same wig distributors. Last week I saw a woman with a blonde wig. An Hassidic Jewish woman was pushing her stroller down Bedford Ave wearing a blonde wig. How daring. How rebellious. Unique. And I wondered what made this particular woman go against the grain and order a blonde wig. Maybe she was born with blonde hair and she wanted to hold onto that individuality in a sea of brunettes. Maybe her husband likes blondes. Maybe I caught her on the one day a week she goes rogue, swapping her brunette bob for a yellowish honey bob. I don't know. I was tempted to follow her to see if she did other things differently than the women of my neighborhood, but I stand out and would not have been able to sneak by, unnoticed.
And I sent my book out to a publisher last month. When I received an email response, I felt childish but could not open it until I was alone. And it was a rejection. But a nice one. An encouraging and helpful and thought out rejection. Rejections do not hurt so badly when they are delivered nicely.
Speaking of rejection. Still rejected. But picked up. But rejected.