Turn and Face the Strange ... Changes

I find myself contemplating the lyrics of the song by the late, great Mr. Bowie as I approach another milestone, one that heralds an even bigger one for me.

Next week this blog will be three years old. Three is a number that is significant to me in so many ways; the third reality created by the combination of two … mind, body, spirit … three little words. Not coincidentally (because I don’t believe in coincidences), this was my third attempt at writing a blog. And this is the one that stuck. Three.

When I started this in 2013 (see the 3 there?), as I began to get more personal, I had started reflecting on the three years prior and all the significant moments encapsulated in that short span of time. I had been turned completely upside down by all that had happened in and around my life. Now, I look back on the last three years – with the added benefit of my firsthand account here – and find myself thinking the same thing.

Happy 3^rd Anniversary, 40-something Breck Girl Blog. I am so very proud of you. All of you. The significant, the insignificant, the ridiculous. That pride extends to me, as well. I’m so very proud of you, Susie. All of you. The significant, the insignificant, the ridiculous.

This past week I reread the entire blog. I don’t normally do that after I’ve written a post (at least, not after the first 24 hours of publishing it, when I harshly scrutinize and pick each one apart in sometimes self-loathing paranoia). I put them out into the Universe, and I leave them there; sort of like a promise kept.

My reflection around this anniversary has to do with my age (in a good way). This time next year, when I celebrate the 4^th anniversary of this blog, I will be celebrating the final anniversary of it. This time next year, I will be 49 and ½ - that’s six months away from no longer being a 40-something anything. I’m obviously going to need a new title. Since I believe that any change at all is a total change, the new blog I will be writing at 50-something will be written by a different person. The person writing this now is different from the one who started writing here three years ago.

This is not a bad thing at all. I’m excited about turning 50 (and already planning my party!)

Hell, I’m excited about tomorrow – I’m excited about now.

It was my realization that this coming year is the last full year of this particular blog that prompted me to reread it, all of it, the good, the bad, and the ugly.

I’m still proud of you, Susie. You stuck to it. I even found lines – no, not just lines, but whole paragraphs – that I really liked.  Even gave myself a few pats on the back for some of them. For a hyper-critical, self-abusing over thinker, that is huge. Huge.  I “turned myself to face me”, and wasn’t totally unhappy; in fact, I’m actually happy.

Yay, me.

I began to see that the little things, little decisions every single day shape us more – sometimes, even more than what we consider to be the big things. We only notice changes after big occurrences just because changes are almost immediate. Sort of like when you see someone every day and never notice that he or she is getting older until you see a picture of them that is years old; or the flip side where you don’t see someone for 10 years and get hit with the differences all at once.

Time is relative, right? “Time may change me, but I can’t trace time.”

Every moment is significant, some may just seem more obviously so. When I look back over this blog, I can see my own transformation, even as I was writing about changes prior.

I noticed that despite my “leave all expectations at the door” attitude, I did have a few recurring themes, like connectedness, collective consciousness, perspective, tolerance, time … love. All themes that recur in my daily thoughts; as I think more about something, I write more about it.

Deal with it. No one said you had to be here. :)

I have no idea what I’m going to call the new blog.

Outside of that (and my big birthday party), my focus is on now. Even as I talk about changes past and changes yet to come, it is not so much as a rehash or attempt to push ahead, but a noticeably larger awareness of changes as they occur. Now. So as I look back, I’m looking back now; as I look ahead, I’m looking ahead now. With the perspective I have now.

And even my perspective will go through “ch-ch-ch-changes”.

(3 “ch-”s).

Happy Anniversary to me. And thank you for being here with me now.

Stay tuned for the "Changes" blog quoting Yes.

N.B. For those who were hoping this was going to be about menopause, I’m sorry, you’ll just have to wait for that one. And it will come.

A Duck, or Too Good To Be True?

(or, "Too Good To Be True, Two")

If something seems too good to be true, it usually is.

Right - but not because the situation isn't good or can't be good, but because you don't trust it to be good.

How many times have you heard yourself say that you don't trust something?

Do you realize what you are doing? When you say that you don't trust, you are showing total trust - just in something else; usually, the opposite of the situation as it appears and in its possibilities. It's not that you are not trusting the situation or circumstance; you are trusting your disbelief in it.

Determining that something is too good to be true is giving prior judgment to a situation as negative, despite its positive appearance. Why? If it looks like a duck and acts like a duck, isn't it a duck? Why is it only a duck sometimes, when other times it can look like a duck and act like a duck, and instead of being a duck it's too good to be true?

Why can't we believe all the time that something is exactly what it appears to be? People use the phrase "Seeing is Believing" all the time, yet will not always believe what they see. What makes them so selective?

Fear.

When did everybody become afraid of a duck?

Will believing in something we can see make us vulnerable to it? How? We see many things every time we open our eyes, and we aren't afraid of them.  Just certain things?

If you feel you are vulnerable to something, recognize that there is a special power in being vulnerable, because vulnerability is really an openness to possibility. It puts you in a position of gaining something that you would never attain by "playing it safe".  There are no possibilities without giving something a shot.

Vulnerability is trust. Trust is belief. Belief is always positive. If the thought of vulnerability causes fear, there is a predetermined judgment of the situation as being negative, even if all indications of it point otherwise.

So, it looks good (looks like a duck), feels good (acts like a duck), but you don't believe it's good (it's a duck), and because of that you won't let it be good (a duck)?

That poor duck.

Once you've labeled something as too good to be true, you have already condemned it to being so. The statement itself is a self-fulfilling prophecy.

When you trust in something, all of your actions around it are positive and integrative; when you don't trust in it, your actions are negative and segregative. Basically, even if you have made the decision to go along with something, any distrust you have will cause you to withhold yourself from honest immersion in it. You can't give anything your all if your all isn't present, and the situation is doomed before it starts.

(But you already knew that, didn't you?)

Believing in something can never be destructive because it will not interfere with the situation or circumstance and will allow it to flow. Attempting to act on something you don't truly believe in will cause you to react to your mistrust, instead of allowing what you "hope" will happen.

Remember, the opposite of hope is despair. You don't want to hope, you want to know. Believing and trusting is knowing.

If it looks like a duck and acts like a duck, it's a duck. If it looks good and feels good, it is good.

(And it's true.)

Let the duck be a duck.

Believe in the duck.

Allow it to be a duck.

It will be a duck.

A Little Something for Everyone on Valentines Day

For whatever reason (the commemoration of a saint, the Christianizing of a Pagan festival, or the marking of the beginning of the mating season of birds), we have a "holiday" in mid-February to celebrate love and romance.

Like Christmas,  this is actually an "event" that should be an everyday occurrence. Also like Christmas, nobody parties harder this holiday than those interested in selling it.

Unfortunately, those that are selling it are marketing to one market audience only: couples. This has created a backlash and many negative feelings from those who are not a part of that group. "Singles Awareness Day" and "VD" are two common references to Valentines Day from those who don't have a "+1".

The couples who choose to celebrate this day should party it up as hard as they want to. Wear red. Buy flowers, chocolates, or diamonds. Wear a special red thong and heart pasties under your clothes and rock your partner's world after an intimate dinner and a few glasses of wine. There is never a reason not to celebrate loving someone.

Even angry singles can find a way to make this day fun:

* Stand outside of Jared, and take pictures of everybody that goes inside. Then, use social media to spoil everyone's surprise. You could take that further, by posting pictures with the caption, "He DIDN'T go to Jared!"

* Offer to babysit for the most annoying couple you know, just don't tell them you are going to take their kids to the same restaurant they are going to.

* Make reservations for two at a restaurant that is known to be considered romantic. Make sure your table is in the middle of the room. Put a rose in a book and place it on the table across from you, and sit there looking like you are pathetically waiting for someone. Everyone around you might feel bad enough to buy you a drink. After an hour, begin to cry softly, making sure your mascara runs. That ought to get you a dinner.

I have to point out that these are things that could be done on any day of the year. Just like wearing special red panties, buying someone flowers or chocolates, enjoying a nice dinner and a bottle of wine.

Valentine's Day is a day to celebrate LOVE. Celebrate it or don't. But love is love is love, no matter how it is expressed; romantic, familial, or friendly, love is love. Celebrate the day, or celebrate every day with love. Everyone has it; it is in all of us. Whether or not you feel you have it to GET, I can assure you that if you have the awareness to feel that way, then you undoubtedly have it in you to GIVE.

SHARE love on Valentine's Day,

and EVERY day.

Sprinkle that shit on everything.

Small, Symbolic Validations of Connection

My "thing" with certain jewelry started about 16 years ago, when I worked in an office with a much younger girl who gave me the necklace she had been wearing when I complimented it. I had initially refused to take it - it wasn't valuable; I just didn't want to take something that was hers. She told me then that while she did really like it, she'd 'gotten her use out of it' and now it was time for someone else to enjoy it. She also said that she felt compelled to give it to me the moment I said something about it. This particular girl was someone I thought to be an old soul and who I considered to be much wiser than I was. She lived in the present at every moment, and always found something to appreciate. We were in and out of each other's lives in less than two years' time, but I learned a lot from her. 

Thank you, Katie. I hope you are well.

Since then, my jewelry - necklaces in particular - has become somewhat significant to me, as a talisman, a reminder, and/or a symbolic validation of a connection of some sorts - it could be a connection with another person, or a certain connection with myself. When I find the right piece, I would wear it for years - and with Katie in mind, would give it away when the time was 'right' (Elina, the spinning ring you gave me stayed on my left thumb for 11 years, until I passed it on to someone special three years ago - another short but meaningful connection. Thank you, Elina.)

I will wear other jewelry, sometimes, when I dress up, but I will still wear the pieces I consider to be a part of me. Right now, I'm wearing five rings on my fingers that I don't take off; one of them I've been wearing for almost two years. None of my 'staple' jewelry is worn out of habit; each piece means something. I never plan to pass anything on; when I buy it my intention is to keep it. Giving it away happens on a thought. Something inside tells me that "this person should have this", and I go with that thought (part of my promise to myself to stay in the moment).

I remember buying a particular necklace in 2005 that I was still wearing in 2007, when I started driving a school bus in Easton. I'd had my eye on it for a while, and was so excited the day I finally bought it. It was nothing overly spectactular or even shiny; it was a simple tear-shaped stone on a black rope. But it caught my eye. Every time I saw myself in a mirror, I would see it and it would always make me smile. I don't know why, I was conscious of the way it felt around my neck and it just felt good to wear it. Every day.

One of the girls on my bus, a high school senior, noticed it one day, and I remember knowing right then that I was going to pass it on to her, soon. It was a weird feeling, that knowing, but a good one. And it made me think of Katie, again. The girl mentioned my necklace a few times over the next few months.

On the last day of school, I put the necklace in an envelope. (I even remember making sure to wear a shirt with a higher collar, so my necklace - or lack of - wouldn't be noticeable.) I also put a note in the envelope, explaining that I was passing along the same good feeling that was passed on to me. I handed her the envelope as I wished her good luck when she was getting off the bus, and watched her in my rearview mirror as she walked down the street, her back to me, as she opened it. I know the exact moment she saw what was inside, because she stopped walking - she just stopped. I can't explain what I felt at that moment, but it was a rush of something quite good. Then, I just looked forward again and pulled the bus away from the curb, not wanting to look back again and maybe spoil that moment.

It was almost 6 years later before I wore another special necklace; this one wasn't on a chain, but on a woven strand of rope. I wore it until it wore away - and even the timing of that happening was momentous.

Two years ago, I found one that 'called' to me. My moon. The moon has always held a special importance for me; I can't explain it, it just does. As events changed in my life, that necklace became even more meaningful.

When things changed again, as they always do, I realized it was time for a new one. I needed to get a new one, and I was having a hard time parting with this one. I knew it was just my own unwillingness to accept the newer changes going on.

My friend Kara took me out for a drink on my birthday. I don't know how the subject of jewelry came up, and I hadn't told her about my 'thing' with jewelry - I don't even know if she sees that night the way I did. All I know is all of a sudden, she reached up to her neck and grabbed hold of the pendant she was wearing and said that she 'felt she should give it to me'; and she insisted on it. I knew that the stone was very special to her, too. I did take it, with the promise to return it when I was 'done'. I put it on the same chain with my moon. It wasn't a total change, but change enough. Thank you, Kara.

(It was that same birthday that my 'mentor' Sindy handmade a tiara for me to wear, out of crystals. I won't bore you today with more talk of tiaras. Thank you, Sindy.)

I wore it for exactly one year, on the same chain with my moon. When my next birthday came (5 months ago), I felt it was time to give it back to her, and to get a new necklace. I found one, and gave her her stone back. The new one was only 'good' for me for about a month - it was a cheaper necklace; I started taking it off occasionally out of fear it would turn my neck green, and then I stopped wearing it altogether. I knew it wasn't right for me, and inside I knew why; part of my reason for purchasing that particular necklace had to do with a continued refusal of letting the past go, but it was still important enough in that it got me to finally take off the other one.

My best friend Donna 'gave' me a necklace to wear about two months ago - I may have pestered her for it. :) I just really wanted to wear it. It was a large labradorite stone in the shape of a heart.Thankfully, she gets me. (Thank you for that, Donna.) Another loaner, but I do feel that sense of timing. And, every day I have enjoyed wearing it; I can't explain the comfort (best word choice I could find) that I get from feeling the weight of it, and seeing it.

Two weeks ago, I knew I was going to see her again and harrassed her about possibly having to give it back - and she let me keep it, saying I still needed it.

Today, I got a pendant in the mail from a friend. She'd messaged me on New Year's eve with a picture of it, saying that my posts about Donna's necklace made her think about it and "It's not a heart, but if you like it just send me your address and it's yours and you never have to return it." She said, "I saw your post last night and thought about this piece (I've had it for ages and never wore it), and the weird thing was that it was in the first place I looked for it."

It's a moonstone - one of my favorite stones. And it's huge. And gorgeous. And I LOVE it. Thank you, Cindy.

Donna will be happy she'll get her necklace back - she'd been wearing it when I kind of begged for it. Right now I'm wearing both the moonstone and Donna's necklace, until I see Donna. Both of them feel right together. I have a feeling the moonstone and I will be together for a long time.

Why am I talking about any of this? There are so many things tied in to these little, seemingly nothing stories, and the main one is of connections. The people that come in and out of our lives are not part of chance or any idea of randomness. There are no coincidences. It doesn't matter if you cannot understand how I feel about symbology or jewelry; you have your own measure, definition, or marker for that which is significant and meaningful (think of the meanings behind engagement and wedding rings; this is similar). My last three out of four necklaces came to me (an event in its own right), and the one I chose didn't 'stick'; through friends in different circle-widths around me, each piece carrying it's own different meaning to me, yet each one necessary. I spent a very short time with Katie - she literally disappeared from my life as soon as she left the job, but she is still with me and still a part of things I do. The high school girl I gave the necklace to was not a friend of mine; she was a student on my bus for ten months and I haven't seen her since - and she is still with me, because I still remember the pure pleasure I got from giving her something that I really enjoyed (and I don't miss it). Kara, a dear friend that I can probably count on one hand the amount of times I see her a year, loaned me an item special to her - something irreplaceable if I'd lost it. Donna - I can't say enough about her. That bitch has my back (and most of my secrets). She sees what I refuse to admit (and tells me); I got one of her 'good' pieces of jewelry. And Cindy, who I only actually met in person once at the house of a mutually dear friend who passed less than two months later, just 'thinking' about giving me something that she couldn't have known the depth of its meaning to me. They are always with me. Connections.

I have to acknowledge noticing all of these little serendipitous synchronicities, tied together by seemingly insignificant items. No, things do not matter, but it is not the things themselves that I am realizing that I am humbled by (and I've just limited myself to talk of jewelry here, there are so many other things I am thankful for) - it is the timing, the energy, the meaning in these symbolic representations that I am in awe of - the nudges from the Universe that tell me that we all are connected, and everything is GOOD.

Thank you. I needed that.

Label This!

I have many labels, and have been called many things. I was born in the United States, which means I’m a mixed breed. I don’t speak Starbucks, and as far as I’m concerned, they are the ones who should learn English.

I’m beige on the outside, which I grew up being told was ‘white’. Inside, I’m the same as everyone else.

My age of 48 puts me in Generation X (children of the Baby Boomers). Not cool anymore. I'm old to some and young to others.

As a woman older than 35 but younger than 50, I am a lost demographic to the marketing world; but since I am single, I may be used as a prop.

When I was a bartender, I was told I was very pretty – unless I shut that person off. When I was a legal secretary, I was a typist. When I was a stripper, I was called a slut. When I was a waitress, I was treated as a servant. When I was training male doctors on a new computer program, I was still just a woman expected to be intimidated by a male counterpart who made more money. When I was a school bus driver, I was ignored as an ‘underling’ – unless I made a child sit up in the front seat; then I was a mean-person-out-to-hurt-children-as-a-means-of-validating-myself, because your child would never misbehave. When I gave birth, I was just a mother (this includes a loss of sexuality points).

As a young girl, I was told I was ‘just a girl’ and warned of the many things I couldn’t do. I ran like a girl, threw like a girl, and cried like a girl (but I could spit like a boy).

Then I got ‘girl married’ and I was someone else’s possession, representative, mirror, and secretary.

Because I'm a girl, when I moved into my neighborhood three years ago alone with my young daughter, I was called a cougar. Because I’m a girl, I was hurt when someone broke up with me. Because I’m a girl, I was accused of having another man lined up when I broke up with someone (because a girl would never do that unless she had a safety net).  When I get angry, I must be ‘on the rag’. When I’m hurt, I’m overreacting. When I have an opinion, I’m bossy. When I say no, I’m a bitch (when I say yes, I’m a slut, again). I have been accused many times of acting ‘like a man’ – or trying to.

Oh, and since I’m single and own cats, I am now a ‘cat lady’, too (although the lady part might be questionable).

I am labelled because of my color, my sex, my job, my age, my looks, my choices, my hobbies, my lifestyle, my political status, my religious beliefs, my clothing, my children, my friends, my pets, and the color of my nail polish.

We use labels for organization and separation. Consider the file cabinet (unless you are under 40; then think about a file in the Documents folder of your computer): we will label a file as separate from another file, and then we will label a sub-file within that file, to isolate it even further from its parent file.  Generally speaking, each sub-file is a part of the main label, but still separate from it.

How is it that we are willing to split hairs and define paper, thoughts, projects, areas, time periods, and things as their own unique items, and not do the same when we label people? We even allow uniqueness with paint colors (fuschia is not pink), yet we label people in generalities. White or black, gay or straight, male or female, republican or democrat, liberal or conservative, etc. We have this need to separate; if you are not this, you are that. The sub-category (sub-folder) does not apply here.

In treating people according to blanket-generality labels, we deny them not only their own uniqueness, but our connection to them. Try as you may, you cannot deny our connectedness; it has already been established that we all bleed the same way.

Both sides complete a whole, yin and yang, male and female, heads and tails. I am not this or that. I am this and that. A little of both, a little bit of everything … a little bit of you.

(But since all that is too much to put on a t-shirt, you can just call me Susie.)

Ladies, Chaka was partly right: we are every woman, but we are more than that. You are more than that. 

The Stylistics said it better: You are everything.

And everything

(everyone)

Is You.

Stick that in your label maker.

Dropping the Basket

I dropped my basket yesterday.

Again.

I hate admitting it, as usual, but since there were a few witnesses my secret is already out.

Actually, I dropped it last week, however it was as if the event was videoed in slow motion, giving plenty of people time to catch up and watch.

In my case it’s not about depression; this is a situation more like the feeling of being an egg sitting in the boiling water too long that begins to crack (that analogy is something I’ve had the opportunity to associate first-hand – an attestment to my cooking skills). Of course, it could also just be Head Up Ass Syndrome.

We’ve all reached that point somewhere, sometime in our lives, when we just lose it. I’m not whining. I understand and even support that sometimes it needs to happen. I usually operate with an internal pressure release valve; when something happens, I vent (and vent … and vent). Sometimes my venting is quite entertaining (according to some of my friends) as I get creative in my descriptions of how I’d like to react – another part of my process; reaching for the ridiculous always helps me with perspective (or, it just highlights my own level of crazy – either way, it’s part of my charm). I have learned to temper my venting in front of a woman I work for occasionally, because even after 12 years she will still say, “But you’re not going to do that, right?”

Sometimes, the vent sticks shut, or is not open enough to allow enough air out, and the pressure builds.

Back to the basket. I dropped my basket. I always loved that saying, even before I heard it in The Divine Secrets of the Ya-Ya Sisterhood. With this morning’s acknowledgment of my own basket-dropping, I began to think about that phrase a little more, with a little mental imagery. Of course, I took it further – and then I found myself in the middle of another great (as far as I’m concerned) analogy.

I want you all to try something. (Seriously, try it and post pictures of it here or to my Facebook page) Fill up a basket with little plastic eggs (or superballs, if you have the time and really want to have some fun).

Take that basket out into the middle of any public area and just drop it. Watch the little eggs roll off in all directions (I think I really want to do this with superballs!). Here you can get a good visual of how the basket-dropping expression came about.

Now, watch what else happens. People start running around trying to retrieve the little eggs and bring them back to you. No, not everyone; but usually more than you think. Pay attention here: this is not simply a matter of other people trying to be helpful – it is that, but it’s more than that. Someone who is trying to be helpful has time to size up a situation before making the decision to do so – those are the people who were some distance from you who either saw you drop the basket or noticed everyone around you scrambling for the eggs. For other people, helping you out was automatic. Think about it; the people closest to you when you dropped the basket did not have time to think about helping you – they just reacted. Immediate reactions happen without thought; and without thinking, these people rushed to help you gather the eggs.

If you want to go further into this little social experiment, spend some time in this public place and study the people there before you let the eggs loose; see if you can pick out ahead of time which ones will help and which ones won’t. I guarantee at least one person will surprise you, by either not helping when you thought he would, or helping when you thought he wouldn’t.

This is life. You may let go, drop it, lose it, or fall down, however there is always someone there, in some way, to help you pull it together, pick it up, find it, or help you up. Automatically, because however our separateness, we have an innate connection in spirit. Whether it is the person who surprised you by not helping, or the one who surprised you when he did.

The actual physical experiment is nice in that you are detached from the outcome; if someone does or doesn’t help, it doesn’t matter to you because you had no personal investment in it – you were just watching to see what happened. In real life, you may feel disappointed if someone is not ‘there’ for you – but you also may be pleasantly surprised by who is (even if it is just for that one instant). But even then, you are in a position to detach yourself from that feeling of hurt, because if you step back and look at the overall picture, someone was there. And there will always be someone. That’s the order of chaos, the Universal system of checks and balances, this and that. We just have to believe it’s there in order to be able to see it.

We all have those blinders that prevent us from seeing what we have. Those blinders can also prevent us from seeing when another person needs assistance. In the physical experiment, you will notice that some people never offered to help because they didn’t see what happened – and yes, this is sometimes a conscious choice. Some won’t help because they are too far away, or they deduce that there are enough people involved. Each one of us has been in a similar situation where we didn’t see, chose not to see, felt we were too far away, or guessed the situation was under control. That’s human nature based on personal perspective, and it is in all of us. Whatever the case, someone was (and will be) always there for another. Trying to see the bigger picture will give you the opportunity to sidestep feelings of disappointment and be present in appreciation.

Back to me – yes, because I started this. I dropped my basket, and the eggs went flying.

And many people rushed around to gather them back up for me. I saw all of you.

Thank you.

So much.

When Will I Be Old Enough to Wear Purple?

In 1961, Jenny Joseph wrote a famous poem called “Warning,” that has become more and more relevant to women as they continue push beyond the societal norms that dictated their places in the home, limited their opportunity in the workplace, and infringed on their birthright of personal choice and expression.

Whether or not you know the title of the poem, you know the first two lines:

“When I am an old woman I shall wear purple
With a red hat which doesn’t go, and doesn’t suit me.”

This is a wonderful poem about being in charge of your own happiness, boiled down to allowing yourself to make your own choices about who you are and how you express yourself. Many women have taken this up as their platform for personal empowerment and enjoyment. It spawned The Red Hat Society, founded by Sue Ellen Cooper in 1997, which promotes “fun after fifty”.

Ms. Joseph wrote that piece when she was 29.

29.  Most people don’t know that. That’s pretty young to be thinking that far ahead, don’t you think? At that point in her life, what age do you think she thought counted as being ‘old’?

Right now, the only people seeming to pay attention to this work are the older women – certainly not 29-year olds. If they are paying attention, it is information that is surely filed away for ‘when they are older’.

When is that? At what age are we defined as ‘old women’?  

When will I be old enough to wear purple?

Like anyone living in this generation, I asked Google.

“How to Dress Your Age” brought up about 84,900,000 results (0.52 seconds).

I have to say, first, that NONE of the results on the first 2 pages mentioned wearing purple anywhere. But I did find multiple lists of “age-appropriate” dress for people over the age of 30, 40, 50, 60, and 70.

(I’m sad to say that even Oprah had one. Age-appropriate, Oprah? Really? Conformity?)

By my deductions, that would make 80 the age of the ‘old woman’ and the allowed time slot for wearing purple clothes and red hats.

Are we expected to wait before we can be free in our expressions of who we are? Conform now, be happy later?

Ms. Joseph herself questioned that, in the last lines of her poem:

“But maybe I ought to practice a little now?
So people who know me are not too shocked and surprised
When suddenly I am old, and start to wear purple.”

Whether your mode of dress is full-on ornamentation or simply a matter of concealing nudity, what you choose to wear is a part of who you are, and is often a matter of self-expression.

What happened to “Be You”? Is self-expression and thinking outside of the box conditional? How do we keep using lovely phrases like “Be-YOU-tiful” while we are telling people how they should look, and at what age they should look like that? Isn’t that talking out of both sides of our mouths?

One could argue that how one dresses does not determine the character of the person; however, how one dresses affects the perception of that person by others. No, another’s perception of you does not define you, but it will affect how another will treat you.

The only person that needs to accept me is me. But I will not truly have self-acceptance if I don’t allow the same for everyone else.

Change is needed here, but shifted to the perceiver aspect of ourselves; to allow others to be who they are, before the “Be You” attitude can be fully adopted and acted upon.

Fashion may seem like a small detail in the grander themes of personal power and freedom, but it really isn’t. This ‘small detail’ is a baseline for levels of acceptance and self-esteem. It is a long-standing, self-perpetuating model and prototype of societal conformity that is completely at odds with any and every idea of self-expression and the tolerance thereof. The gateway to all other types of the push for conformity.

A funny thing about this type of following the herd is that the rules are fickle. We knowingly adhere to rules we know will change nearly every 10 years; it’s like following a religion with changing Gods. Yet the true essence of ourselves doesn’t change (it may grow, but it won’t change).

Your favorite shirt, skirt, shoes, hat, pants, tie, hairpiece, or jewelry (whatever it is) makes you feel good, lucky, powerful, confident, comfortable, etc. Clothing and accessories you don’t like, don’t. How you feel in what you wear is reflected in your attitude, even if it’s only a little bit. Dress yourself up in what suits you. Only you knows what that is.

With more people making that choice, we can slow and maybe eventually stop the dictates of this one aspect of forced uniformity. Progress and change do not come from repeatedly same thinking. The pressure put upon young people by the fashion magazines cannot be discounted. Imagine the possibilities of the younger generations growing older with more self-esteem and better acceptance of others …

I’ll tell you this right now: I’m 48 years old, but the only things that will affect my decision to wear a miniskirt will be the outside temperature and whether or not I feel like shaving my legs.

(My skirt will be purple only if it matches my shoes.)

See also What Not to Wear.