Writers block is a hard thing.
It’s almost been a year since I’ve written a blog. But then I awake at 4:30am on a Monday, my mind too busy to sleep any longer. More worried at the fact that I haven’t written and people will wonder, instead of wanting to write because I enjoy it. It’s insane because everyone drudges waking on a Monday, but here I am. We rush to get to our jobs and this day starts the feel wheels for the week. I used to lay awake at night looking through my Pinterest style board trying to piece together an outfit. But inevitably I’d wake late the next morning and put on whatever was easy because my over the top Pinterest piece just wasn’t coming together and I wasn’t feeling it, nor had the time to refigure. No time to fight it or my emotions to make the perfect balance for a happy Monday. It’s amazing how the wrong underwear, shoes or shirt used to effect my day but now are so insignificant.
Life throws things at you like balls in a batting cage forcing your way of your path, to go off kilter, lose balance causing a ripple effect. Recently, and by recently I mean months ago, I had to close my salon. A very rough time for me. Several balls hit me hard and I feel like I’ve fallen right off my teeter totter of life, naked in a closet of outfits and opportunities. I’m a little lost as to how to stand back up on the board. My late night fashion dates with Pinterest disappeared as I have no where to wear it, not even the grocery store on a Tuesday. Rebuilding my identity without the salon or my certified titles is tricky. I managed to push it all away, literally everything that I once was and am standing naked. I try on a few outfits and career hats but am struggling to find my new outfit.
I keep my mind busy with other things. Avoiding the loss of some great outfits.
Fighting to absorb the greatness in this closet around me in hopes it’ll ignite the fire back and get me dressed.
A funny, handsome, Irishman who wears survival crocs, yes it’s a thing, as house shoes, in fear of the ever present, vicious dust bunny.
Our fearless (and I use that term as lose as your favourite sweats) leader who travels to India and chooses to take his theatrical drama background to the tallest of heights and embarrasses the masses by wearing the utmost extreme gowns that not even Bollywood elite would wear. Who lied to him about wearing such outfits? Didn’t the First Lady Pinterest outfits before heading that way?
An older woman walking the streets, proudly with her over the top fleecy dog faced print coat, embroidered tapestry back pack, purple splashed hair and orthotics.
Our Golden Globe elite. All black adorned uniformed army. A choice to take a stand. You people have more money combined then, I’m sure, the whole of the USA has in their bank account. Instead of funding help centres or taking a bigger, stand against your fellow college/or this epidemic, you wear elaborate designer black outfits, preaching now dead speeches about something that happened to almost all of you, and many more of us. Sad. Me too.
Oh how the world is changing. I’m changing.
Are we lost on our own path and becoming armies of sheep. Following designers, trends, paths of life that make others ok with our decisions instead of ourselves. Isn’t it ok to try on other hats? Step outside the labels, trends, insecurities, and paths. Hit up the batting cage.
The world is going to judge you no matter what you do. Wear the survival crocs, the over the top Indian garb, all black or that beloved fleecy, dog faced coat. Wear yesterday’s outfit because you really loved it. Stand naked just a little longer. You’ll find your outfit. The pieces will come together, rebuild the perfect outfit and you can venture confidently out into that mad, mad world.
Writers block is a hard thing.