The fashion savvy and style-centric entries that I posted when I began here two years ago started to take another tip at some point. As I worked harder to put distance between the stylist and big production costumer designer I had been for my adult life and what I really wanted to do, this was the place I would come to sort it out. Sounds weird that I would do that in such a public medium for something so private, but this blog and its sister blog, became a place that I could positively and productively manifest clarity. Not sure why to be honest. But it worked.
But today something happened. And something changed. Something big but small at the same time.
I remember looking at myself in the mirror after the hectic and almost constant flow of meetings ended and we left our gallery/community centre. My arms and legs were splattered with the ubiquituous flat white paint known to galleries like ours world wide. My hair was a mess, not having thought about it since the day began 15 hours earlier and my face had barely a stitch of makeup left. Nowhere to be seen was the 'fashion freak' that a former iteration of me was known as. Of course nowhere to be seen were the friends that knew that woman either. They've long since left my life.
There in the mirror, looking back at me with a deeply furrowed brow and a weary body was a woman who was giving her very best with everything she had to give. For the very first time ever it didn't matter to me what I looked like, how I was assembled or what I wore. It was my accomplishments that mattered, my insides.
I saw the sum total of my efforts and suddenly the distance between what I had been and what I had become had never been so obvious. It wasn't pretty to look at. For once I gave myself permission not to be.
I just accepted it.