May 29, 2013 |
A few posts ago, I wrote about watching Under the Tuscan Sun and how I desperately want the white dress.
Well. I bought myself a dress. It’s not white. There’s no black belt. Am I’m a few sizes bigger than Diane Lane. But I bought a dress.
I Wore a Dress. And I Wore a Hat.
And I love it.
I wore it for the first time today.
I’ve struggled with my hair since getting it cut last week. Melanie always does such an amazing job. But I couldn’t duplicate the salon style in my own home. Then we caught The Great Gatsby at the theater this weekend, and I became enamored with the abundance of short hair styles.
Today I love my hair. Even wispy after a long day and getting windswept just before this photo, I love my hair.
It’s not always magazine-beautiful. But I like my short hair. Today, I love it. Tucked under a matching blue headband, I felt the part. I felt coordinated. I felt…
Confident.
I’m not a Size 0 or even a Size 6. I have an eczema flare up on my face that rivals any teenaged pizza delivery kid in town.
And today I wore a dress.
Dreaming.
I felt strange. As though I’d been waiting for this moment. It was so much more than a dress. It was, as I thought it would be, an embracing of who I already am and letting what’s inside shine out.
A few months ago I wouldn’t have shared these photos. I wouldn’t have been confident enough. But today I am.
Today, I’m okay with being bigger than a Size 6. I’m okay with a less than perfect complexion. And I’m even okay with showing a yard that still needs some clean-up.
Because this is Who I Am.
And let’s face it: nobody’s perfect. Nobody’s even what you see. So much of us is hidden or ignored. That’s not to say I’m not going to strive for something better. But I’m not upset with the way things are.
How can I tell my daughter, “You’re Worth It!” if I example to her a lack of confidence or self-control? How I be a good role model for Dot if I’m constantly struggling with how I present myself or have a lack of willingness to participate in life?
Granted, you’ll (hopefully) never see a photo of me crawling out of bed in the morning… there are just some things y’all don’t need. Like a spider in the shoe or fingers on the chalkboard. I don’t want to leave you with that kind of experience. And me before coffee is exactly that. You’re just gonna hafta trust me on this.
There’s Nothing in My Cup!
Today was also about having fun and letting Dot take the lead. I simply handed her my iPhone and said, “Do your thing.” Inherently amazing behind any camera, she allowed me to be goofy and dramatic. I made a few suggestions of what types of photos I was hoping for, and she did the rest. Have I told you how amazing she is?
We had a time of fresh air, laughter, togetherness. And it was all free. And in my own backyard.
The legacies I leave my family are more than just my duties and responsibilities. As I’m putting energy into action to accomplish goals and dreams, I don’t want to lose sight of the “little” things. I don’t want to be so focused on writing that I forget to look. I mustn’t be so burdened with a drive to get to Italy that I neglect my own town. I can’t concentrate so hard on working that I forget how to play.
Going Places
Maybe someday I’ll have a slimmer body, whiter teeth, and a stamp or two in my Passport [Note to Self: get a passport]. Until then, I’m more than comfortable with who I am.
I’m confident enough to wear a dress. And a hat.
And Frankly, My Dear… that’s all she wrote!
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You may also enjoy reading:
She Wore a White Dress. And She Wore a Hat.
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May 13, 2013 |
I’m always surprised (although it’s obvious that I shouldn’t be) that the storylines I’m most attracted to are those with writers as the protagonist. Whether it’s a book, television show or movie… if there’s a writer involved, it holds a certain magic that I can’t find anywhere else.
John-Boy Walton was my first love. The episode “The Achievement” is still an all-time favorite. Richard Thomas, the actor, later portrayed another writer in one of my guilty pleasure films, Stephen King’s IT.
Jo March of Little Women lives my life. An awkward tomboy, dreaming of something beyond her home, she left… only to return to the family she loves and write about them.
Julie Powell wrote about Julia Child who wrote a cookbook. And not just any cookbook. Mastering the Art of French Cooking is still on my Wishlist. For those of you new to Frankly, My Dear… the movie Julie & Julia inspired me to start blogging.
Eat, Pray, Love is another wonderful story about a writer trying to find herself.
But it’s Under the Tuscan Sun that grabbed my attention this weekend.
Although I’ve had the DVD for several years, it’s been quite a while since I last watched it. For Mother’s Day, I did just that. Dot treated me to a Starbuck’s Apple Pie Frappuccino [Note to Self: Get more of this. Often. It’s the coffee-law!] and I settled into my Writer’s Corner (chair. It’s a chair.) and was instantly romanticized by the story of Katherine. Oh, you thought the movie was about Frances, the writer? It is. But my story is about Frances and Katherine, her new Italian friend.
During her season of finding herself, Frances confides in Katherine. Katherine takes her under her wing and encourages Frances to lose her fear of, well, everything. Katherine enthralled me, and the characters around her, with her zest for life. She drew Frances out of her shell. She commanded attention wherever she went. And she almost always wore hats. The big brimmed, feminine kind of hats that Audrey Hepburn would have adorned. If Katherine were real and you were lost in a crowd, you’d need only to look above the heads for her hat, and you’d be lost no more.
I don’t want to ruin the movie for you if you’ve not yet seen it. So I’ll skip any spoilers. But I must mention the dress. The white dress. It’s not a wedding dress. It’s simple yet elegant. Cinched with a simple yet elegant black belt. And Frances, after consulting with Katherine, wears it confidently.
I saw that dress. I saw a writer, who on a whim moved to Italy, and bought a white dress. I saw confidence and adventure and romance and life and courage…
I want that dress!
Not because I want the characteristics it portrays. But because I am finding myself already full of those characteristics and I can think of no better way to show it than to wear such a dress.
A year ago I wouldn’t have thought to wear a dress. Unemployed and feeling less than accomplished, a leg riddled with eczema patches… a dress most certainly wasn’t in the cards.
Oh, but it’s so much more than just about wearing a dress. It’s about grasping life with both hands and yet letting go. It’s eating the ice cream cones in the hot sun. Drinking wine in the backyard. It’s celebrating the failures and acknowledging the successes that come with every day of just waking up and being alive.
That dress is about being alive.
I. Want. That. Dress.
It is definitely worth saving my pennies for. If I have any extras, I’ll just toss them into the Fountain when I finally get to Italy.
And believe me. I’m getting there.
And Frankly, My Dear… that’s all she wrote!
You may also enjoy reading:
Mojo Movie Review of the Week: “Eat, Pray, Love”
Mojo Movie Review of the Week: “Julie & Julia”
Building a Better Me: Making (Better) Memories
Where are you, Paul Varjak?
Mojo Movie Review of the Week: “Breakfast at Tiffany’s”
When I Get To New York
If I Could, I Would…
My Personal History of Coffee (and a Keurig Review)
Sep 14, 2012 |
In the aftermath of the incident from yesterday’s post, I’ve had time to reflect on what happened. I received a lot of encouraging comments and support. This post is a collage of my later thoughts, reactions, and observances.
- Don’t be afraid of the Ugly Words. It’s okay to say, out loud, “I’m being stalked.” “Take me seriously.” and “This is not good.” Even when it feels foolish. Even when a part of you wants to think this is just a mistake, a misunderstanding. It’s okay, and even right, to say the Ugly Words out loud.
- Take it for what it is. Don’t try to manipulate the situation into a drama, but don’t downplay it into a nothing. I didn’t want to appear foolish, and so this “incident” went on far too long, and I felt far too alone. I should have been less concerned with possibly being wrong and more concerned with being protected.
- Just because nothing happened, doesn’t mean nothing happened. He kept his distance. he never approached me. He never spoke to me. But he still intentionally scared me. Intimidated me. Followed me. He. Stalked. Me.
- It’s okay to still be scared, even after the fact. I tried not to be nervous today, but I had more errands to run. And I found myself sometimes hyper-vigilant. In traffic. In crowds. In parking lots. Not always. But more than usual.
- I’m much more aware how much of ourselves we give to strangers. At one location, they asked for my phone number to look up my account. In front of five strangers, I had to audibly confirm private information. With all the technology available, they should mandate keypad entries to prevent someone else from hearing my secrets!
- Everyone has told me I should have told the manager or called the police. Let’s face it: no one wants to be considered a nuisance. And without proof, the most anyone could do is write it down for later. I already felt helpless. I didn’t want an authority figure to confirm that fact.
- I know the difference between jerks, creeps, and predators. I don’t like admitting it, but the truth is, he was a predator and I was in danger. He had a look that said he owned me. He never questioned it. I was his. And the only time he looked confused was when I glared back to put him off.
- I have a right to expect more from society than my pointing fingers and looking like a fool. But society doesn’t easily throw open its arms and say “I’ll protect you.” More often, society says, “It’s not a big deal”, “Give me hard facts”, or “There’s nothing we can do.” Society made it easier for him to intimidate me, than for me to ask for help. And I find that unacceptable.
- Television is my friend. At the very moment I realized this guy was actually stalking me ~ not just looking at me, not just following me, but actively, intentionally, maliciously pursuing me ~ I recalled stories from my favorite crime dramas. I knew what to do: Be noticed. Be strong. Be prepared to fight.
- I texted Dot a few times. More than usual for that time of day. I sent her photos of the groceries in my cart. Partly because I wanted her to see what goodies would be waiting for her at home. Partly because it gave me a grounded feeling to be in contact with someone outside the situation, to pretend that it was just a normal day at the grocery store. But mostly because I wanted to leave a digital trail of where I was. I wanted to be like Hansel and Gretl finding their way back out of the forest.
- Thanks to television, I also knew what not to do: Don’t talk to him. Don’t be distracted. Don’t encourage him. But don’t back down.
- It’s okay if I lose sleep over this for a few nights. I didn’t wake up in cold sweats last night. I’m not suddenly afraid of the dark. I didn’t have nightmares. But I did have trouble falling asleep. The reality of what happened mixed with the possibility of what could have happened, and those thoughts kept turning over in my head.
- “Sunlight” no longer equals “Safe”. Even in a crowded, sunlit store and parking lot, even with smiling strangers around, I
could have beenwas in danger.
- I’m smart. I’m strong. I’m powerful. And I can fight. I knew enough of what to do to be confident. I know that was a big help in backing him down. I wonder how much braver he would have been, if I had been less so. What would have happened if I’d been more demure and timid?
- I’m thankful for my voice. I’m thankful for my inner voice giving me peace and courage in the moment. I’m thankful for my writing voice to share my story after the fact. I’m thankful for my physical voice, and I’m especially thankful I didn’t have to use it.
- I’ll be okay. Because I was okay. Because ultimately, while this incident was, and still is, very scary, I’m okay. But now I can’t stop thinking about the many women who won’t be. Whether at the hands of this man or someone else, women are in danger. And that makes me sad. And that makes me angry. And that makes me want to do something about it. I just wish I knew what.
And Frankly, My Dear… that’s all she wrote!
