The only man you can prove I’ve been with once called me haphazard.
At the time, I wasn’t clear on the definition, but the word stuck with me. Haphazard. Neither “hap” nor “hazard” sounded like he meant it kindly. The moment has clung to me for over 20 years.
We were at a gas station exchanging something—I can’t remember the reason why. The why has faded. The what, however—what he said—stuck.
Haphazard means something done in a random, disorganized, or careless way—lacking a definite plan, order, or direction.
And the truth is, twenty-year-old DDC was, in fact, haphazard. No plan. A little order. A vague direction.
Fast forward two decades.
While preparing for my son’s college graduation, I realized how many days I’d be away from the office and thought: Maybe I’ll dye my hair hot pink while I’m off. A bold vacation choice. I’d done it before—dyed it pink in January for our family cruise, then went back to “office-approved” before returning to work. I’m not loyal to any one hair color these days, but I absolutely love hot pink.
So I asked my son if he cared.
He said, “I couldn’t care less.”
Cool. He’s calm like that—unbothered by most things.
Then I mentioned it to my mom.
“Hot pink hair is unprofessional,” she said.
I explained I’d return to work with a natural color. I even recalled that during my job interview, I specifically asked my supervisor about hair color. He said he didn’t mind pink hair.
But as the trip approached, I stalled. I never bought the dye.
The night before we left, I realized: I’m not doing it.
And that’s when it hit me.
Haphazard.
He called me that twenty years ago—when it was true. But even now, with a plan, permission, and pink hair history, I still didn’t follow through. Why?
Because some part of me didn’t want to hear his mouth, even if only in my memory. I didn’t want to imagine his face twisted in disapproval.
Why do I care?
I wish I didn’t.
I’m disappointed that I gave energy to a man from my past whose opinion should hold no power today. But here we are. It happened.
DDC
Lesson: Even when we grow, old voices can echo. The challenge is learning to turn the volume down—and let our own voices lead instead.
Question: What old label or comment still lingers in your mind—and how much of your present is it quietly influencing?
DDCANDTHECITY 