I step into my closet, I’m just going to put on some clothes. The shelves overflow with t-shirts, leggings and tank tops. A pole holds sundresses, billowy summer skirts and skinny jeans doubled over hangars. Those shoe things that look like cubbies -they’re stuffed with sandals, sneakers, wedges, pumps, and…you get the idea.
It’s the day after Labor Day and, once again, I’ve barely worn half these items, showing up instead, in the same eight pieces daily rearranged. What of the other clothes? Saving them. Saving them for… what exactly?
For “when.” For the time that my mother called “special.” Save it for special.
I can’t tell you how many outfits I outgrew (or that became woefully dated) because special never came, or when it did it somehow wasn’t special enough.
But, this isn’t really about the clothes (who cares if I don’t wear all my clothes) or my mother – well, a tiny bit about my mother – it’s about waiting for “when.” It’s about holding back. It’s about holding out because now isn’t enough or I’m not. It’s about thinking we need to be something in order to___________(your thing here). My friend Megan writes, “I get fully into summer and vacations just as they are about to run out, the power of loss making them sweeter.” True. Loss. Regret.
Clients come to me, wonderful people looking to make room for meaning in their lives, to enjoy their food, to like their bodies, to listen to themselves, to use self-control, express their purpose, or to simply just take a break. We start with chewing persimmons, I mean, choosing permission.
George Balanchine is famous for asking his dancers, “Why are you so stingy with yourselves? What are you saving for-another time? There are no other times. There is only now. Right now.
What happens if we give ourselves permission to wear, to be, to try, to stop, to go, now? Delicious persimmon, I mean – permission. Yum…