The best way to get noticed: wear a viking hat out in public. People will stare at you. They will wonder if you're wearing it on purpose, or if you're really unaware that you have horns sticking out of your head. If you go to Perkins wearing a viking hat, the old ladies will look up from their pie, and sort of smile as they wonder if all the kids in the world are as crazy as you. But they will also admire you. They will wish they could wear a viking hat, and not feel stupid about it. There will be people like the man in the airport, who I stood next to as I waited to pick up my grandmother on Christmas Eve. "That is a great hat," he said. "You can do anything in that hat." And I believed him, because I was standing in the middle of the airport, wearing my crazy hat, and people were looking at me weird, and I didn't care. Usually I cared about things like that, kept my hair down in my face and blushed when anyone made eye contact. But I could do anything in that hat. I'm a quarter Swedish, and maybe there's some true viking blood in me that made me fearless. The real Vikings might not have been the nicest bunch, but I don't think they cared who was laughing at their hats, either.
I'm not even wearing my viking hat now, but I still feel fearless. I'm finally starting this blog, like I've wanted to for months, because I'm tired of hiding and caring what everyone will think about my writing. I can do anything in that hat, but I can do everything without it, too. After all, it's only a hat; I'm the one underneath.
