Thursday, March 14, 2013

The singing hipster

This morning I had an appointment with the physical therapist. 
Backstory on that: 
I love running. 
I developed some mad shin splints.
We just signed up for the Chicago Marathon.
I want to be able to start training in June. 
Enter in Jill, my lovely, sassy-yet-kind, British physical therapist. 
Perhaps I'll talk more about that later. As for now, this post is not about my ailments, it's about a singing hipster. 

So, I parked my car on the side of the street, got out in my oversized men's sweatpants, tennis shoes, and puffy ankle-long coat. I know, attractive. #dontcare
I proceeded to walk up the street, when all of a sudden I heard some singing in the distance. I really didn't think anything of it. I kinda thought it was someone shouting from far away or something, so I didn't turn around or anything. Then, as it got closer, I realized that truly it was singing. So, as any normal human would do, I turned around to scope out the scene, and there he was:
Happy as a clam hipster {I know crazy, right?} singing his heart out as he walked up the opposite side of the street. He was one of those singers who I think thinks he is good, but he was quite the opposite. Not to be rude, but I am a girl who likes to call a spade a spade. 
{The only time I think that I am even like 1% good is when I sing Adele in the shower with all those acoustics. My poor neighbors. Sorry Chris! It's me getting you back for your dogs barking. Call it a truce?} 

Back to the point. 
This dude was belting it out. 
He didn't care how it sounded. {I don't think so anyway}
He didn't care who he woke up.
He didn't care if I was there or not. 
He was in it. He was feelin' it. He had joy. 
And here I am all looking at him like....what the...

But then I thought to myself, he gets it. 
What the heck am I doing caring about whether or not someone is going to turn around or look at me weird. I mean, I was already wearing an outfit that Stacy and Clinton would burn as fast as you can say 'happy as a clam hipster' anyway. 
I thought to myself, self, which one would you rather be? The one judging or the one singing?
Singing, duh. I'm already over the fact that I suck at it. 
{Obviously the singing man was too. Ah! Now I'm judging! Lord, help me!}

In conclusion, I want to give a shout out to the singing hipster. 
Thanks for that little lesson today as a reminder to just be me. 
And if I want to sing, just sing. 
Life's too short to give a rip about what people think about it.  
I'd rather be someone like you any day.

Here's a sweet lil song by Cat Stevens that explains it well: 

And here's a picture of me in that awesome outfit I spoke of: 

Yes, I indeed had a left shoe on. The pants are so ripped at the bottom, the left shoe now gets covered. Such is life. 

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