A Clean Slate

Going Into The Closet

Recently, I had the absolute pleasure of cleaning out my clothes closet.  Please assume a complete tone of sarcasm when reading the prior sentence.  Sorting the clothes in my closet has been a project of avoidance for an exceptionally long time.  Why?  Because I hate the way my clothes closet makes me feel…like I am falling apart and barely holding it together which is an accurate assessment of most of my leggings.

Photo by Priscilla Du Preez on Unsplash

Second to the above feeling of inferiority is the complete aversion to clothes shopping as I despise changerooms.  Just think how difficult it is to hold yourself to the image of a leggy, slim, graceful woman when faced with bulging reality under the harsh, sallow-hue producing, fluorescent lights of a changeroom complete with floor to ceiling mirrors.  Give me delusion any day…remember, it’s all about perspective.  😉  

As an aside, wouldn’t it be in most stores’ interest to provide lighting which is gentle and perhaps a digital mirror?  A soft dimly-lit change room linked to imaging-editing software would do wonders for their bottom line.  Current changerooms are like the end of an evening at the night club when they throw the lights on and the cold water of reality hits your makeup-long-since-gone celebratory self.

Accepting What Is

Nevertheless, the title of my blog is about acceptance, and in my 40s, I am continuing my quest to achieve acceptance in all areas of my life including my clothes.  Acceptance to me is to meet yourself where you are, say “Self, you are enough” and be the best kindest version of enough that you can be for that second moment.

Acceptance this month means to face head on the challenge that is my clothing, and after sorting, emptying and donating, I was pleasantly surprised how painless the process generally was…but I hadn’t gotten to the shopping part yet.   I was surprisingly ruthless with no more hope of fitting into that mini skirt again one day which tells me my acceptance work has made progress.

Growing Up

Without saying it out loud (writing doesn’t count…this is therapy), my goal over the next few months is to elevate my wardrobe to the level of a 45-year-old woman with transitioning children…not a stay-at-home mother of toddlers.  Long gone are the days of someone wiping their nose on my shoulder, and the excuse for permanent residence in leggings and a sweatshirt is wearing thin.  Though in my defense, my son did use my sweatshirt to dry his hands yesterday when he could not locate the tea towel so may not be an entirely invalid wardrobe choice.

Photo by Cut Collective on Unsplash

Upon completion of clothes sorting, the monumental challenge hit me. A very sorry selection of clothes encompasses my current wardrobe.  Some beautiful pieces but without the accompanying bits to put an outfit together.  Big problem areas were my one belt that looked like it had been tasked with a job too great for its capabilities and some unfashionably ragged jeans.  I foresee a future involving many a changeroom. 

When beginning new projects, it’s always wise to start out simple which in my current mind frame is underclothing…specifically bras.

To be continued…

Anyone else have a particular clothing item that has seen better days, yet you still have an aversion to throwing it out?  I surely can’t be the only one resewing my leggings until they are see-through.  Hey wait, then they’re footless tights! 

The Fall

Setting The Scene

Tripping over a bump in the pavement while trying to avoid a sprinkler system jetting water all over the sidewalk, I flailed in what felt like slow motion onto the ground in the middle of a 4-lane thoroughfare.  Lying prone with my cheek on the warm smooth pavement, four questions consecutively and immediately rushed through my mind.

  1. Did anyone see me?
  2. Did I check for traffic?
  3. When is the pain coming?
  4. Can I turn this into a blog post?
The only difference between myself and the gentleman above is I had my shirt on.
Photo by photo-nic.co.uk nic on Unsplash

Blog Post Ideas

Jumping up self-consciously and returning to my jog albeit with a limp and blood running down my leg, I pondered ideas to turn a seemingly negative event into a positive, chew-on-this epistle.

Should it be about pushing yourself too hard?

No, my excited walk can hardly be called pushing.  Even the snail who lapped me agreed that wasn’t an appropriate angle.

Should it be about failure and picking yourself up again?

Nope…it didn’t resonate as true, and in my writing, I at least strive for authenticity…even my authentic self changes moment to moment.

Then, it hit me…virtually weeks later…seconds after the dog inspected my wound and gave it a lick.  Yes, dogs are gross, but at least their mouths are cleaner than ours, so not likely to go septic.

Sometimes, bad things happen for no reason.

I know hardly an epiphany but bear with me, it’ll get better.

Waiting For It To Get Better

Sometimes the only reason for a sucky moment is to provide contrast and illuminate those things we do want in our lives. For example, a glass of spilled milk makes us appreciate a clean floor.  Or a hole in our favorite sweater can illuminate how lucky we are to have hole-free clothing. 

And sometimes a fall can make me appreciate how much I love being upright and unwounded.

That’s it…no great revelation, but here’s where the chew-factor comes in.

The Chew-Factor

I choose whether I put my focus on the fall, agonize how I got there and berate myself for my lack of grace or I can use the contrast to put my focus into appreciating those things I don’t think about in my daily life like:

  • Gravity.
  • The sympathy of the others, in particular the nursing home residents at the window who rubbed their hips in commiseration and that of my family which I exploited thoroughly.
  • Access to medical care –  The nursing home was next to the hospital…in case I needed it which I apparently didn’t…skinned knees and elbows don’t rate high on the triage list. 
  • And that while I don’t bounce like I used to, I don’t break either.

Here’s to looking up or at least above ground level.

My attempt at more sympathy.