Friday, August 31, 2012

Looking Back on a Life-Changing Purge

Last year this time, my life was a mess. My closet was too.

I didn't know what to do about any of it, knowing that something had to be done, but more often than not, having no ideas of how, or if, to begin.

And then my sister, Courtney, came to town for a visit. I plied her with wine, and suddenly, one evening, she perched on my bed, facing my closet like she was watching a movie. "Just pull everything out, piece by piece, and we'll start here."

How did I know this was the beginning? In short, I didn't. It was just that first something.  I didn't balk -- I listened. And we got started.

Sometimes, you have to first know what you don't want before you know what you do, and for me, that first started with clothes. It's about being conscious, thinking not only how other people saw me, but most of all, how I felt when putting something on. Did I love it? Did it make me feel good about walking though the world? Or did I feel frumpy, or blah? Invisible, or silly, like I was wearing some sort of costume?

What I realized was that most of what I had been putting on was about being on hold, being a place holder, not who I was (whoever that was) and not who I wanted to be, but just there.

You can say that it is just clothing, that it doesn't matter, that I am shallow for even considering my appearance. But you are wrong. I am sorry, but that is not true. For me, it was the start of something, the first step that I didn't even know at the moment was a step in living consciously, of living, instead of reacting.

In that moment, supported by a sister who sat on the edge of my bed on a Saturday night, I decided I just didn't want to be someone "there." That night, on a bed scattered with white metal hangers, she helped me put more than 75% of my clothing into garbage bags, to be donated the next day.

It was stuff given to me, purchased on clearance, left over from events, or different sizes or eras. It was just there, filling the space of what I thought I needed.

Now, 75% is a lot, a space between hangers that had never been there, drawers now easily opened where they have been forced open ... but we discovered clothes that I had, good pieces, that I had never worn because I was waiting. Waiting for what, I didn't know, but whatever, wherever I was living, at that moment, did not deserve that perfectly cut dress. It couldn't possibly.

Getting rid of that many clothes is more than just cleaning out your closet. It is about feeling unsafe without a bloated fullness, of feeling vulnerable with fewer choices, of feeling, well, exposed. And in the next few days, I knew it was freedom.

There was no more wading through -- I could get ready much faster. Every time I left the house, it was in something I enjoyed wearing, not just a filler piece. And the lack that was there started to feel like abundance.

Yes, this dress by Ranna Gill was one of the 25%. I was waiting to wear this. No more.  Plan to see me still wearing this at 81 years old.

The road I've traveled now is long compared to that day, but I've come to embrace fashion as an extension of my personality. It's not that serious, but I always know that it is still a beginning. At this point, that means a beginning of my day's focus. Do I want flirty? Artsy? Meaning business in black stilettos? Going to the beach?

I answer these questions with the 25% percent that somehow feels like more than 100. What is the 25% of your life that is you? How do you begin to make that your 100%?


Friday, August 17, 2012

A Writing Boot Camp Philosophical Reflection

I've been in my little house, writing. My current major assignment is a long project, and those close to me have heard me talk about it a lot. But it wasn't until a few weeks ago that I decided to quit pecking at it and get down to the business of getting it done.

So I assigned myself writing boot camp. No more beach, no more putting it off to watch another episode of Mad Men online (but understand that's just because I've seen every episode now). I would really hunker down for a couple weeks until I could get a chunk completed and momentum going. I would go to my part-time job, come home and write, and get up and write, and then go to work. On the weekends I might see people if I could.

I am now here to say that writing is not the most important thing in my life. It is part of my life, yes, and will continue to be. But I am leaving camp. I can't shut my life off from, well, my life. I did finally get down to business, so I know this radical move was needed, but I couldn't completely go into the monastery of work. It's just not worth that kind of long-term worship.

I missed people. I don't really write about people in the project, and that is always my favorite part. And I can't put people on hold, including myself. And when I look back on the last few weeks, for the most part I didn't. And I am proud of that, of not even realizing that my internal priorities will always trump external assignments.

So here I am, still writing, 1.5 months from the big deadline, but I am here to say I am officially back from camp. I needed it, but now, let's just be sensible and write. And then go to the movies, k?