I was at a New Years Eve party last night, I believe the second one of my 53 years. It was fun. I met some new folks, laughed a lot and really enjoyed myself before I went home to get some sleep before work today.
I met a woman who, at 29, is young enough [I was shocked to realize this morning] is young enough to be my daughter. We had wide ranging discussion throughout the party, but the one that has me writing today was the one about her shoes.
She had these amazing red heels on. The heels weren’t very tall, but very spiky. The toes were pointy enough to do serious harm, should they every be used to do anything but cover the toes. They also showed a bit of toe cleavage. And there was this zippy little swoop [not like a Nike swoop] cut into the side of the shoes.
The compliment [that I was about to give her] started with, I have no style . . . and was intended to continue with, but even I can see those shoes are FANTASTIC, or something to that effect.
Eventually it got there, but not until my friend Cara jumped in to remind me that I do, indeed, have style. As she does every time I make that statement. Which I do, not on the regular, but somewhat more than infrequently.
Not sure why this popped into my head as I was massaging this morning, but it did. When it did I realized that I need to reframe the thought, because I do have style. It is definitely my own, it definitely runs preppy, and it is definitely all about comfort, but it is style. And it works really well for me.
It’s when I talk to folks who are wearing something that, to me, is quite fashionable and far from anything I would wear, that I speak the no style thing. What I really mean is, my choice of dress does not conform to what many consider fashionable. I have awful memories of friends dressing me up to go out when I was younger. They had good intentions, but they put me in outfits that I would never choose and I felt awkward and uncomfortable which made for unpleasant evenings. When I wear something I choose I feel amazing. Today at work I was wearing boyfriend jeans that I roll up from the ankle [with a belt], Danskos, and my uniform tee-shirt. I felt confident, sexy, happy. All of which was good as I didn’t have quite enough sleep, despite leaving the party well before midnight and getting to bed not long after I got home, and I had eight hours of massage to do.
This is where the New Years Resolution bit comes in. I spoke a personal truth in that conversation, but the words I used weren’t accurate and had [sort of indirectly I guess] a negative connotation. Word choice is important because we are creating a framework for how we see ourselves and the world, how others see us, what our world is. If I want others to see me positively, if I want to see myself positively, I need to choose my words carefully.
Since I was thinking about this today, realizing that I need to pay a bit more attention to the words I use, particularly in describing myself, today - New Years Day, I’m calling it my New Years Resolution.