You grow up the day you have the first real laugh at yourself. – Ethel Barrymore

Ok, so today I saw it. I saw that fallacy of it.  I saw myself from the view of others in Johnson County Kansas. It was hilarious. I had a good belly laugh. 

Why?

I’m a walking oxymoron. Let me show you and explain: 

That’s me (again 😀 ). I had to take a selfie to demonstrate my point,  but it wasn’t a good snap so I had staff at the building do a quick full shot. 

Like my hippie outfit? Me too!

In fact I’ve had people comment that I dress well, but definitely have a hippie esque style.

The moment I had my belly laugh was sitting in traffic amongst BMW’s, Mercedes’ and Porsches. Wearing those clothes.  Sunroof ajar, windows cracked, A/C on full blast attempting to chase the heat  out of the car on my short 15min hop between buildings. I had some Electric Swing cranked way up on the stero & was dancing in the driver’s seat again.

I realized I’m a Hippie Raver Business Woman with a tattoo… driving a beater car, while fulfilling my work that I created over 4 years ago and have successfully maintained for said 4 years.

 For the area I’m working in,  it’s definitely an oxymoron.

 I’m certain that a vast majority of people in Johnson County would assume that I work some minimum wage job and probably don’t have an education. They would evidence the car I drive and the lack of formal business suits.

Yet I have proven time and time again to hold my own. Following: me and me alone. 

My fashion choices are not only MY choices, dictated solely by what I think looks good and fits good,  but they never cost me big dollars. Even when I did wear women’s suits, once upon a time, I purchased every one of them at a tiny fraction of their normal cost by shopping thrift stores. I shed the need for that years ago and now I love all of my wardrobe. 

Yet, I not only started a business,  but I’ve kept it alive for nearly 5 years now. I have no boss, no required schedule, no strict attendance or dress codes,  no one harping on me to get my work done.  Yet I do. 

I show up, on time most days, but I always show up unless I’ve prescheduled time off or I’m ginuinely very sick. I don’t need someone to nag me to keep doing my job.  I know my residents depend on me, my family depends on me, and that’s enough.  It’s all the motivation I need.

So yes,  I dress like a hippie.  Yes,  I listen to loud obnoxious music and bob hysterically in my seat having a grand old time in my commutes. Yes, I have one of those oh so unprofessional tattoos.  Yes,  I refuse to shave my God(s) given body hair. Yes, I  drive a dirty dusty beater car.  …

AND I’m still a successful business woman supporting  myself and my family by taking care of others. 

I can laugh at myself for shattering the mould, and it’s ok if others find me amusing too. Really, I’m also laughing at them,  because I know they’re trapped constantly trying to fit other’s expectations and trying to appease their corporate monster jobs, and they probably resent me for not having done either.  … Maybe that’s why my brother hates me!