scribblechic

Moving created a unique opportunity to sort the entirety of my wardrobe. Unlike seasonal purges, spontaneous evaluations that stemmed from frustration and need in a moment of desperate awareness for the ill-fitting, wash-faded remnants of years past; moving provided an excuse to sort items with a more intentional attentiveness for the functionality and emotions of purposeful dressing.

Not one for clutter or material sentiment, I was very methodical in my sorting. Each item was evaluated by specific requirements; the first was need. Is this an item I wear regularly? If yes, does this item make me feel comfortable/confident/beautiful?

It was important to me, as we moved to a new community, that I begin my days from a place of both functionality for the purpose of everyday tasks, but also a positive mindset. As a stay at home mother I knew that most of my social contact would come from school events, but the balance of my time would be consumed by settling our home and tending to our dog.

Recognizing the responsibilities of my day afforded me a chance to donate those items that had sat long forgotten; remnants of another life. Office and evening wear from volunteer committees and special occasions in smaller sizes were gifted new life. Similarly those items that were torn, stained, or stretched from over-use were generously allowed to rest in peace.

Demanding confidence and beauty were necessities of spirit beyond comfort. An introvert by nature, I wanted to center each new experience with a positive intention. I couldn’t control the circumstantial discomfort or intimidation of overwhelming unfamiliarity within my new community, but I could choose to approach the unknown with a sense of calm crafted from an armor of strength.

Returning to the initial question of use, assuming an item was something I would not wear regularly, I then asked myself if I might ever have use for the object in our new home? If the answer leaned even remotely near maybe, I reserved the parcel for another day. A well-cut blazer and timeless pencil skirt, seasonal dresses and even exercise attire were safely stowed for our adventure.

The last qualifying question was one of sentiment. For those hard to rationalize items that lingered between piles, I asked if there were a photograph that might better honor the emotions I struggled to preserve. The best example of this was my wedding dress. Our wedding day itself was a complicated memory, but the dress was less meaningful than the image of my husband and I in a private embrace preserved by a thoughtful photographer. This dress and others were donated that they might find new stories elsewhere.

What remained after my sorting, was a functionally minimalist collection of clothing that brought me greater comfort than confidence. This has created a new opportunity to expand my wardrobe and to shape a new sense of self as I fill in the missing necessities.

Not a shopper and ever-cost conscious, especially given the expenses of moving, I am struggling a bit to invest in new items. Dwelling over fit and color, need and expense. I began my exploration with an unexpectedly frivolous, uncharacteristically impulsive, addition; earrings.

For over a year I have window shopped a charming pair of earrings, playful and pretty they were easily dismissed as an extravagance. This week they became a new promise to engage in objects that delight; to approach shopping without the dread that normally accompanies my efforts. For less than $30, I rediscovered the wonder of playing at dressing up.

I’m no longer dreading the task of deciding, I want my very limited wardrobe to be joyful; beautiful colors and thoughtful elements to make the simple work of everyday more pleasurable. Like fresh flowers on a windowsill or an inexpensive pair of earrings, I want to breathe greater beauty into my day with purpose.

There is irony in the passage of years, I feel the humor intimately in my morning routines. I am a woman looking to my reflection for the girl of my youth, no longer so eager to cheat the years in a mad race toward maturity.

I thought time would deliver me into an image of more worldly expressions, that I would evolve into a glamorous stranger. Instead I wake each day to a funny recognition of self.

My eyes recall the errant efforts of youth, the eager ignorance of hard lines and clumsy shapes. Blemishes and stray hair, I have exhausted my skin with harsh chemicals and sharp ends of overused tweezers. I was unkind in my attention, unforgiving in my imperfections.

I never matured into an image of sophistication, rather I settled into the shape of my truth with a fondness for a simpler expression of self; a gentler appreciation for lines that tell a story of heartache and joy.

It is a beautiful undoing, years of well-intentioned manipulation washed away for a wiser recognition of a naked knowing. I am both the girl behind the mask of old dreams and the woman in the mirror; a complicated and contradictory skin of experiences that shelter memories.

I have come to spend less time creating an image and  more care nourishing grace.