An upside of illness is how it streamlines what’s important. Things like designer labels and how chic one looks suddenly shakes itself loose leaving a much more authentic you.
I was surveying myself just now…how casually I dress in what’s become a sort of uniform. Jeans, a J. Crew ginny T beneath a well-worn French sailor shirt…a hoodie thrown on top of that. If it’s chilly we add an old navy pinstriped blazer once belonging to a suit long gone…sneaks or old flats, a headband to tame and basically disregard my hair.
Not a bad look, just a very different one.
When I think the pains I took with my appearance just to go mail a letter, it’s stunning. My mother drilled into me, you just never know whom you’re going to meet so you better be ready, and I was, for 58 years.
My collection of little black dresses practically hang in the closet like a memorial in remembrance of a lifestyle no longer lived.
Due to my limited hearing, I’m not the party girl I used to be going out nightly hooking arms with Camille hunting for that well-heeled high to verify my existence.
You’ll more than likely find me curled up in shortie pajamas peacefully reading my third book of the week with all I truly need: a gentle breeze from the window…wine, fruit – a nice wedge of cheese softening for later not missing that social life so unexpectedly taken from me. To my credit, I’ve stopped railing against what is equivalent to banging your head against the wall.
I don’t spar with discomfort anymore accepting my social limitations with graceful ease.