If you asked me an hour before I hit publish on last week’s post,

I’d tell you it was a complete flop.

The day before I would have told you I was writing the greatest metaphor of all time —

truly, a Pulitzer-worthy analysis of an unwieldy dress that shed glitter across the entire house that I tried to tame.

(For the record, hair spray helps in the moment,

but it leaves future self wondering, “Is this considered damaged?”)

I was sparkling — literally — with glitter and possibility. And all I wanted was to take that metaphor and spread it into the world and say: Isn’t this cool?! Look at my brilliance! Look at my hair spray and glitter!

I might have incidentally stumbled upon a new musical, Hair Spray 2, perhaps. Imagine ensemble moms dancing around glittery dresses with their hair spray bottles raised like spears.

A girl can dream, can’t she?

But “brilliance” like that reminds me of the Calvin & Hobbes cartoon I loved.

It got lost in the fire or I would have saved it forever,

but in my mind it still goes like this:

I could have created it myself because that cartoon was me:

the eternal kid trying to get on all the networks.

The BS Tape and the Battle Within

So there I was last Sunday hovering around the time I should post, mid-muse.

Still coming to terms with the plain and simple blog that was emerging

from the one that would make me a superstar in my own head.

The moment I realized everything I had written before 8 pm was all…BS.

You know me for not cursing, but this comes honest.

In high school, our friends had a mixed tape that was our version of TikTok.

In our circle, if you came armed with “the bullshit tape”

(our mixed songs tape we loved and knew by heart but couldn’t name the artist),

you were today’s equivalent of gone viral.

Just like our tape, I realized it was all…BS.

I got in my own way.

I couldn’t help that a secret part of me wanted to recreate my BS tape —

something I created that people would swoon over: copy, save, pass on. Talk about my brilliance decades later.

It was a battle I waged, but luckily I sleighed that dragon.

I threw on my glittery dress (I know, I know — there I go again) and spun around and around.

Fall where it may (without my interference).

Scary stuff.

And When the Glitter Settled

Nothing stuck.

Nothing except me —

standing in front of that imaginary TV frame again, shouting, “Look at me!” while the world flipped channels.

It wasn’t the glitter I dreamed of — just me having a hard time getting real.

And oh, it’s hard to get real when you are so tempted to put on a snow-globe show.

But am I forever grateful I spilled that glitter

— all of it, everywhere —

because somewhere in that mess, I found what I’d been trying so hard to create.

The Moment That Finally Stuck

The day after I posted, that’s when I got my comment from Holly the Human —

(she jokingly refers to herself that way to qualify that she’s not the canine we named after her).

And that’s when the glitter finally stuck.

“Stephanie, thanks for being so incredibly brave that you continue to share your thoughts and memories with all of us. You are a gem. You are the glitter that stuck! Thanks for making me feel like I am also someone’s glitter that stuck!”

It’s like that way-too-cool rainbow skirt I wore in the ’70s.

I loved that skirt — I wasn’t trying to be anyone when I wore it.

I just smiled and the sun caught my hair.

In that moment, I felt like all the stations really did point to me.

And suddenly everything clicked into place:

The Real Glitter

Here’s the thing about glitter:

it’s messy, it’s annoying, it’s not what we want it to be, and yet,

somehow when we least expect it, it sticks.

The real glitter is what winks at you weeks later when you find it in the carpet. You smile all over again, “It’s still there!”

It didn’t appear upon command, just to be flashy and brilliant, and it most definitely doesn’t need to be seen.

The Glitter That Stays: The Rainbow Skirt

And maybe that’s why the childhood photo of me in my favorite rainbow skirt is making a comeback.

Now we chase the flashy dresses —

the ones that leave glitter everywhere —

while the real glitter that sticks hides simply somewhere with someone we love.

There wasn’t any glitter on that skirt at all.

It’s a bit of a game of blind trust we’re playing here —

showing up in our glittery dresses and falling backwards into the pile, mindlessly letting the pieces land wherever they may.

The fun part comes later, when we finally get to see the impressions we made — which ones stuck.