I woke to a morning when nothing seems right. Not even my favorite sweater feels good. I instantly rip it off, then slide into an oversized t-shirt, next a brightly colored blouse, then reluctantly go back to the sweater.
Do men experience days like these? Or is this solely women’s territory? Does this odd behavior indicate an identity crisis? Or is it just “closet fog”? I’ve decided this ritual must serve some purpose or another; otherwise we wouldn’t voluntarily torture ourselves, would we?
My mood troubles me and I have learned that when my emotions take over the best way out is to dig a little deeper, and so I do. Literally. I push aside a few hangers and lean further into the closet in search of something.
I find the leatherette gym bag I carried in high school sitting on a shelf just out of reach, now a pale lavender instead of the rich purple it was in 1977. I smile and place it within view. The shoulders of my letter jacket hang dusty and faded, yet this coat boasts of a time when I was strong, athletic, and very naive.
My fingers brush against the sequins and fringe of the clothes I wore onstage several years ago. I feel a tug and know I’m not ready to give them up. My excuse? They’re too expensive to replace, so will leave them where they are just in case I decide to join a band.
I quickly shove aside my golf shirts and pull out ski pants, masks and scarves, adding those to the donation pile.
I don’t give up easily, but dig further into the shadows until my fingertips touch a familiar stretchy bit of fabric trimmed with leather. My riding pants. That which connects me to the saddle, to my horse, my equine companion I no longer have. One leather is more worn at the knee than the other.
Suddenly I know what I’ve been searching for. I can see a notable (and glaring truth). I can see ME. Then and Now.
My instructor was correct after all — I rode unbalanced in my seat. And it’s true, I struggle to stay balanced, to live in harmony with myself. On this cold, foggy morning in January, I hold the evidence, proof of this struggle.
It was a sobering moment, this folding and unfolding of my life; yet there it was in plain view, an almost complete picture. Not the earliest years of infancy, but the early years of adulthood: the young mother, the wife, teacher, the aging athlete, the equestrian, the performer.
Each of them alive in this heap. That 18 yr-old tomboy is still there. She grabs the worn out sneakers, the sloppy jeans, and t-shirt. Every. Single. Time.
And her counterpart, that soon to be 57 year-old woman?
She’s relieved and her body softens. She knows the pile of dresses, skirts, and tight jeans, the lizard boots, party heels, and basketball sneakers are just clothes and shoes she’ll never wear.
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Photo by Ryan McGuire, www.gratisography.com
Excavating the closet. Yes, it does help one see oneself. This whole post made me smile. Thank you.
I’m still looking!
Also I think we see ourselves differently every day. That sweater looked okay yesterday does not seem right today but may look just right tomorrow. But agree there are some things we will never wear again, like those shoes.
Good point! We do see ourselves differently from day to day and I try to be mindful of this. Not always an easy task, but one I try to be mindful of. You should see my newest shoes, suede with crepe souls. Very chic and casual!
I love this. I’m older than you are and continually go through this process. My English riding boots, rather than my jodpurs, similarly reflect an unbalanced body in the saddle. So this year my response has been to ride more, with a gentle coach—not to try to regain my original posture, but rather to become more and more comfortable with the body and psyche I inhabit now. Not always easy, but the more I focus this way, the more peaceful I feel. Thank you for such a thoughtful note on this subject.
We could all use a gentle coach, someone to ease us into a safer place for both mind and body. I sense this theme will repeat itself many times; my goal is to see the signs and pause for a moment, reflecting and loving who I was, who I am.
I just saw my Brahmadora dance jacket in the closet. The sequined cummerbun is in the children’s play clothes bin. The tasseled hat and ruffled shirt and white boots gone long ago. Thanks for the memories… Who was that girl? She wore about a size 2.
I love the image of your grandchildren wearing the sequins from your youth. Giving new life to the old, sharing the memories, creating new ones. She is still there, your Brahmadora dancer!
I remember that young girl. My sister’s classmate. My impression is hardly that of imbalance.
Pictures of my life in rural Oklahoma always include your family. Thanks for reading! I appreciate your support.
Must comment again, because I am picking out pieces in my closet that need to go. This happens before my spring and fall clothes swaps. I will have a lot to contribute this time around. Finally I am willing to release a gorgeous green silk skirt that a friend gave me when I turned 50. It’s splendid, no doubt, but last time I wore it and thought I looked good, my daughter gave me another (loving) opinion. I’ll also let go of a sweater tunic from Anthropologie that I bought more than 5 years ago and have clung to because it seems so me. Not so much anymore, I think. Three slips that seem romantic but are of no use to me, since I wear mostly jeans. Two sweaters that were warm and cozy in their day but now need to move out into the world and warm another woman or two. A couple of supersoft Banana Republic long-sleeved Ts that will better fit a fourteen-year-old. Ahhh. Thank you for a place to write these thoughts.
It’s a humbling experience, letting go of things (and people) we love. I include past versions of ourselves in this broad statement. Now each time I step into the closet, I see more and more clothes I’m ready to part with. Sounds like it will be a fabulous clothing swap!!