A lot of things have been happening lately. I’m a recent college grad, I just moved into my first apartment, and I’m in the process of figuring out where I need to register to vote (yes, that was a not so subtle hint to go out and do the same – we need everyone’s voice in this election). And yet, I feel like I haven’t written on this site in forever. I want to say this wasn’t a choice, that life just kept getting in the way and I was at the mercy of its busy schedule. That wouldn’t be entirely true, though. At least, not exactly.
It’s easy to call “life” an obstacle, to use it as a scapegoat when things just get way too busy. When you find yourself no longer making time for the things you love. But the honest truth is, this was a choice. Mental health and lack of boob-related anecdotes kept me away from reporting. Instead, I decided to focus completely on this ever-elusive idea of “adulting.” You know, staying on top of the rent, and making sure I prepare healthy meals instead of just boiling pasta. One part of my brain says this shouldn’t be hard to do, and yet another part realizes that this is exactly what I should be doing. Figuring out your new identity as an adult can take some time, especially when the unexpected is not the unexpected you expected. But that’s enough philosophizing.
What I actually want to talk about is a box of bras.
It was a last minute purchase, a vague attempt at being on top of things. When it comes to bras, I have pretty
much accepted the fact that most will not fit me. I have figured out the sizes I can maneuver into, and I order bras close to those sizes. For the first time, however, I got bras that were entirely too big. I never in a million years thought I would write that sentence. Bras either barely fit me or are too small, not the other way around. I mean, honestly, I didn’t think I would ever encounter a bra that would be too big for me. But I did – a whole bunch of bras to be exact. For the first time, my failure at being an adult made me grin with joy. I actually got to experience what people with smaller bust sizes must deal with all the time.
I know this sounds little and even insignificant, but it got me out of my overly-controlling mind. There is no way in hell I’m going to find my way through post-grad life by following a set path. Not to get too metaphorical, but things are gonna happen that are outside of my control. Things are gonna go completely and utterly wrong, but that doesn’t mean I have to let it control my life. So I ordered the wrong bra size – I can exchange them no problem. Sure, seems like a hassle, but this mistake brought me more joy than a box of correct bras ever could. I’m done overthinking things. I’m done obsessing over what I “should” be doing instead of actually doing the things that I want and need to do.
Pretty much, this is all to say that the Jug Reporter is officially back in business, even if she does have to wait a few extra weeks to be fully supported in the chest area. Don’t say I didn’t warn you