From July 2015 to December 2015, my most spoken phrase was, “I’m sober as an ox, let me drive.” Giving up all alcohol for six months was a fascinating experiment. Years of mindless drinking inspired me to try a period of mindful abstinence. I love doing things to the extreme. Challenge me to buy no new shirts for ten days and I’ll go home and think about it. Challenge me to buy no new clothes for one year and I’ll commit on the spot! For me, it was easier to cut out all alcohol versus reduce consumption to say, 80%. Ordering a drink had become a sort of knee-jerk reaction. Menus were placed on the table at a restaurant and like clockwork, a round of drinks were ordered. A first date meant several glasses of something to shake off the nerves and serve as a sort of Slip n’ Slide to intimacy. I’m grateful that I don’t have a destructive relationship with alcohol, but like most people my age, I engaged in enough weekend nights of binge drinking to have my decisions make for a rough Monday morning. I had developed a drinking habit, and habits have consequences.
I look like I’m twelve years old, so I’m sure the AT&T salesman assumed I would be an easy sell. Wearing a polo shirt and new Nike shoes, he bounced towards the door with an iPad in hand. He smiled wide. He was ready to sell me something expensive! I smiled and added a disclaimer to my request, “You’re going to think I’m crazy…” I said. “I want to trade in my iPhone 5S, for this,” I said, pulling a flip phone out of my jacket pocket.
On a slushy gray day in New York City, I made what turned out to be a very impulsive purchase. I had moved to New York City a few months prior and was having a severe case of the homesick blues. I missed my car, my friends, and my savings account. I was feeling sad and needed a little pep in my step. So, I hopped on Groupon. A $20 gel manicure sounded nice, but I was in the mood for something new. A 12-day juice fast sounded boring and a lifetime membership to an oxygen bar sounded worse. Scroll, scroll, scroll….and then I found what I was looking for. For only $60 I could experience an introductory Colonic session. Without hesitation, I flicked my finger, and it was mine.
A few nights ago I walked Lake of the Isles with a good friend of mine. She and I discussed our relationships with our men and our smartphones, our dreams and our mutual love of a clean, inviting home space. We agreed that a pile of clothes in the corner or a crumb laden floor takes a toll on one’s well being. This perspective may seem dramatic, and in some ways, I suppose it is.
A good winter cape is basically a snuggly blanket that is absolutely appropriate to wear to dinner or work. Let me say that again; it’s a B-L-A-N-K-E-T you can wear to your J-O-B. If this doesn’t excite you, I’m afraid I cannot help you.
At the end of the day adults want to play dress-up just as much as kids do. While we didn’t wash any clothes, we did scrub our souls with the pure sudsy joy of crawling into dryers and pushing each other around in laundry carts. We weren’t there for business, we showed up to play.
My dear friend and I are launching a podcast called The NO APOLOGIES Project! This podcast features brave stories of pivotal moments in the lives of women. I am SO proud of the work Bernadette and I have put into this. And, I’m humbled by the women who have stepped forth to share their experiences with us, and with you.
Yours from the North,
Image by Amy Anderson
The nomad life style is so appealing. As much as I like having a semi-permanent nest (renter style), I like the freedom of the open road more. I’ve dreamed about meeting a man who will build a tiny home with me and bid adieu to the comforts of a King bed in exchange for a tiny one with just enough room for our tiny love story.
My co-worker has a mug that reads “Baditude.” The other day it shattered on the floor and fittingly, some choice expletives were expressed. If a coffee mug could sum up my feelings while wearing this outfit, it would be Baditude.
Damn, I love a vintage dress! Finding one that fits me in all the right places makes me feel I was born in the wrong era. While baking scones in a 1950’s sundress and heels sounds like a dream, being meekly obedient to my husband does not. Really, I’m the luckiest: I live in 2016 and can wear 1950’s dresses without the woman-hating bullshit of that era. Score!