A sign

When Amanda ran the Chicago marathon during our senior year of college, We Her Roommates were there to support. We made a banner to hold up at mile 22, the mile wherein she predicted she’d think she was batty. It said: “YOU’RE NOT CRAZY” in big, multicolored letters. Tara, Eliina and I each held a piece of it. When she came around the corner at the mile marker, she gave us big, sweaty hugs.

It occurred to me this afternoon that sometimes that’s all we need in general — someone to hold up a big sign that says, in no uncertain terms: You are just fine. Becca and I, for our play project, are considering featuring a surreal scene involving a validation hotline — Call 1-800-YOU’RE-OK and have a live operator tell you you’re not losing it, you tried your best, you’re not a total loon.

I was feeling like a crazy person today (insecure and tetchy over the usual issues), and so I called Amanda, who was right there to validate my sanity and self-worth. Whew.

Side note: I’m reading About a Boy right now, by British author Nick Hornby. My favorite way to say “gone crazy” is British: Gone ’round the twist.

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