Fashionista to Passionista

You know, back in the day when I was working three jobs just to buy Kraft dinner, I didn’t really have time for joy. I didn’t really have the capacity or the head space to follow my bliss. (Whenever I use the expression “follow my bliss”, I feel I should have long, flowing hair, wear a long, flowing caftan, and spend my days making crafty shit out of pocket lint. I should be Aunt Meg from Twister – wasn’t she fabulous?) When you’re in survival mode, everything but what is absolutely necessary to survive takes a back seat.

That’s not to say I didn’t enjoy every moment with my children, Search and Destroy. They have always been a source of great love and joy, even during the really rough spots, and I don’t expect that will ever change. (Unless Destroy makes homemade chicken pot pie again without cleaning up after himself. Seriously, did you have to use every single pot in the house? And Search, if I have to go hunting for my black eyeliner one more time, you may find your bags on the porch.) The incredible joy a parent feels when your child tells you how much he or she loves you while trying to scam another $10 out of you, well, it just can’t be measured. But that’s not the kind of joy I’m talking about.

Last week, while off on vacation, I spent a couple of hours relaxing in the backyard with a novel and a glass of wine. I can honestly say the last time I did that was probably over 10 years ago. Ten years ago. How is it that something so simple could have been completely eliminated from my life? Interestingly, as I “find myself” again, I am remembering things I actually used to enjoy doing. Just managing a job, a home, and two kids on my own has kept me pretty darn busy, and my default program became one of putting others first, initially out of necessity but then, admittedly, out of habit. It takes head space to make effective changes, and when the rough times began to pass, I was happy to use that head space just to feel and experience relief. And then my brother died on my couch on August 6, 2008. His heart stopped in his sleep; no oxygen to the brain, and that was that.

Fast forward two years. I’d always heard that people say it takes two years to get over a significant loss. That always seemed long to me. Well, I can honestly say, that it’s been two years since Dale died, and I am finally – finally – starting to feel like myself. The survivor’s guilt is mostly gone (I don’t imagine it will ever disappear completely). The grief has mostly morphed into memories. I think deep down (subconsciously, because I don’t remember this as a cognitive thought), I have given myself permission to experience joy again. Or maybe it’s not a permission thing. Maybe my head and heart have healed enough that they can now work in tandem again.

Dale’s death was the catalyst to the personal journey I’ve been on the last two years. It’s the “something good” I take away from a dreadful experience. As I approach my 50th birthday, I feel as though I’ve turned a corner. I am happy. I am grateful to be alive (literally, because some people aren’t). I sincerely believe we are here on this planet to discover what brings us joy, that we should then bring that into the world to share with others, and that is our purpose and contribution. Sometimes joy is finding absolute pleasure and peace in the simple things (like reading  a novel outside on a beautiful summer day). Joy is not frivolous or unnecessary. Deep-down, feel-it-in-your-gut joy is what makes us human. I think it’s the best part of us.

It’s interesting how we see all experiences from our own perspective. Mine is predictably female. And so, without giving it much thought, I figured my experience – shared by many women of a certain age – was a distinctly female one. Not so, as it turns out. While discussing living passioniately with friends, both male and female, it seems that the search for meaning and joy is not restricted to the fairer sex. Just because they don’t talk about it as much, doesn’t mean that men of a certain age are not also searching for that which makes them feel passionate.

A biker friend of mine is involved with a charitable organization which helps children with cancer. He himself cut off many inches of hair and donated it for the benefit of others. He’s making a difference. A neighbour, past his 50th birthday, recently took up mountain biking, a sport usually reserved for men half his age. Fresh from an outing to the escarpment, sporting angry bruises to prove it, he couldn’t be happier. He’s raised his kids, and he is now focusing on what brings him joy. Another male neighbour is exploring his love of photography and running (separately – I don’t think he takes pictures while he runs; that would be dangerous.) It was actually a male colleague who brought Roz Savage to my attention. Roz is an eco-warrior who changed her life radically by leaving her former spouse and home behind, and began rowing around the world to bring attention to environmental issues. Not too far past his 40th birthday, decided he was not satisfied with the status quo and so, in a life-altering decision, is going back to school for his Ph.D. Yes, it affects his family. Yes, it means significant changes. But, as he points out, it’s his life, and it’s half over. One of my readers even commented that my blog – obviously geared towards gatherers – had attracted a hunter.

The common denominator here is that middle-age seems to bring about a time of reflection for some of us, hunters and gatherers alike. We feel compelled to find meaning in what we are doing, and doing what is meaningful. We have very little patience for that which doesn’t conribute to our own growth or to the benefit of the community. I think that’s a good thing. Agricultural revolution – industrial revolution – technological revolution – evolution revolution. We boomers make up a good portion of the population. We can make a difference.

As for the picture of Hugh Jackman, well, I have no idea if Hugh is a self-aware man. But he sure is pretty.

In my humble opinion, if you are part of the human race (and chances are if you are reading this, you’re human), then you are in customer service. Regardless of your level of education, no matter how many degrees follow your name, despite your title or station in life, you are in customer service. What do I mean by this?

My belief is that we are just one big global community: the human race. Some of us are black sheeps, and some are that family member we have to keep locked up in the attic for their own safety. Some of us are the prodigal son or daughter, and still others are the sibling or parent we try to emulate. We are one big bag of mixed beliefs and perspectives and motivations. And yet, we have one thing in common. We are all part of the human race, that distinct species which is self-aware. (I realize there is proof that other species like dolphins are also self-aware but I will leave them to write their own blogs. I’m just sticking to human stuff for now).

Given that we are civilized enough, for the most part, to not act wholly on instinct, I think we must then realize we are all in customer service, for lack of a better term. Or really, I guess there is a better term. Let’s call it consideration. Consideration for others. What a concept! People, in general, seem to me to be pretty miserable these days. I see a lot of road rage (okay, that’s usually me), rudeness, and general lack of respect for our fellow (wo)man. When was the last time you saw someone get up out of a seat for a pregnant woman? Or let someone cut in line because they were using a walker? When did we start turning a blind eye to plain old consideration? What are we teaching the young’uns?

I am one of those people who probably irritates the hell out of others. If there is someone behind me in the grocery line and they have two things, I will offer to let them go ahead of my twenty things. Sometimes, the person with two things behind me makes very obvious signs (impatient sighs, looking repeatedly at their watch, tapping their foot) that they are VERY IMPORTANT because they are obviously in a VERY BIG HURRY. Well, you know what? I am organized, calm, and graceful, and if it will help my fellow man to go ahead of me and save 3 minutes of his or her life, I will consider their needs, and let them go ahead.

Yes, I let people in who are trying to merge into traffic. Even the douchebags who barrel down the shoulder to where the traffic is merging rather than having the decency to sit and wait in traffic like the rest of us. Why? Well, maybe his wife is in labour. Maybe he really has to go the bathroom. Maybe his child didn’t come home from school without calling. In short, I consider what might be causing the other person to act that way, rather than consider what it means to me. And I like to give people the benefit of the doubt.

I can remember going to a dance performance in the dead of winter. It took me over an hour to get there, and I was mighty relieved when my guy and I made it to our seats. They weren’t great seats but we could see, and the music was wonderful. A couple sat behind us and the woman was beside herself. Well, actually her husband was beside her, and he was mortified at her behaviour. She huffed and puffed about the hour-long trip in from the suburbs and how these seats were TERRIBLE and how could they charge THAT MUCH for tickets if she couldn’t even SEE. She was ruining the experience for all those around here. For the love of god. Her ranting was so distracting that I turned around and offered her our seats if she thought moving up one aisle would be helpful. She did indeed think so, and despite the silent protests from my guy who is, shall we say, a little less accomodating, we switched seats with the couple behind us. Cons: We were one seat farther than we had been. Pros: The husband shot me a look of gratitude I will never forget. The shrew stopped shrieking so we could actually enjoy the show. The surrounding patrons all thanked us for improving their experience.

My personal philosphy has always been to try and make every connection with another human being a positive one. I see no reason to make anyone’s day miserable, to inject negativity into someone else’s life. I see no reason why, if I’m having a bad day, that I should try to bring others down with me. Make no mistake, I’m no doormat or pushover. Just ask my kids or my guy. I will not tolerate being treated with disrespect. Ever. I can’t control the behavior of others but I can definitely set boundaries for what I will and will not accept. I am entirely in control of my own reactions and actions. I only allow those people into my life who enhance it. All others are not welcome.

I’m talking here though about the world in general. Here is an example. I’m driving along a stretch of road at a nice, almost-legal clip. There is no one in front or behind me. I see that someone is sitting at a crossroads, waiting to turn in the same direction as I am. Rather than waiting for me to pass – which is the right thing to do because it is clean and green behind me as far as the eye can see – this idiot – I mean person – pulls out right in front of me causing me to slam on my brakes. I then have to trail this person, who is obviously having trouble locating their gas pedal, for the next 10 miles. My instincts tell me that I should be perfectly justified in ramming them, or at the very least passing them, glaring at them, giving them a one-finger salute, and holding up a sign which says something about getting their license in a CrackerJack box. But, my considerate nature says something different. Perhaps it’s a teen who just got their license. If it was my daughter making a less than stellar decision on the road, I would hope that those around her won’t try to run her off the road or flip her off. Maybe it’s someone who just got some very bad news, and they really aren’t thinking straight. Let those without sin cast the first stone: I pride myself on my driving, but when I found out  my Dad had passed away from a massive heart attack, I’m quite sure my driving wasn’t excellent on that long, horrible drive to the out-of-town hospital. And on my way to my brother’s house to clean it out after he died, I did indeed get pulled over (and ticketed) because I was going thirty over the speed limit. I had no idea; I was in a fog.

My point is, sure, there are a lot of douchebags out there. But can any of us, honestly, ever say we didn’t indulge in some douchebaggery of our own at some point, intentionally or not? I think not. I think the world would be a much better place if we all were more considerate of others and recognize we’re not all perfect all the time, and that it’s not personal. So what does customer service mean?

1. The customer (that’s the other guy) is always right. Okay, maybe not right, but we’ll at least give him or her the benefit of the doubt.

2. Any failure to deliver on our end should be corrected immediately. If we have contributed to a negative experience, admit it, fix it, and learn from it.

3. Under-promise and over-deliver. Be very careful about what you commit to, but once you do, stick to it and prove your integrity.

None of us are perfect, least of all me. I know that at the end of the day, I feel better about myself if I didn’t participate in the little dramas that people seem to get themselves caught up in. I feel better if I did my part to improve my corner of the world and the lives of the people in it. In most situations, I consider what’s in it for the other guy, not for me. I have made a significant effort in the last few years to live my life in a calm, graceful manner. Gone are the days of living on adrenalin, racing the clock, trying to do a million different things at once. As a result, I move through life being able to observe and adjust with little stress to my life. I factor in time buffers, I don’t leave anything to the last minute, and I recognize that each and every one of us is human. It’s taken 49 years to get to this serene point and I like it here. I feel sympathy for those who are still running themselves ragged to the point of frustration and exhaustion. I can see my younger self in those folks, and that’s part of where the consideration comes from as well: being able to put myself in their shoes.

I think the world would be a better place if we stopped flipping people off, and started empathizing. That is, unless someone does anything to my new Mustang. Then all bets are off.

Each of us lives by a chosen motto. It may not be acknowledged or recognized, but the way you live your life reflects what you believe about the world, and about yourself. A magnanimous person’s personal motto might be “Do unto others as you would have them do unto you”. A more cynical person’s motto might be “Do unto others before they do unto you.” A personal motto – or philosophy of life - will often change throughout a person’s life, to reflect their current circumstances and mindset.

As you can see from this blog’s tagline, my current personal motto is Living passionately is always in style. In my 20’s and 30’s, my personal philosophy was Don’t just Do It, Overdo It, my take on the Nike slogan. I was a tad type-A back then, and it showed. I lived on adrenalin and momentum, and while I recognize industry as a strong element of my personality, it was also a way to stay one step ahead of the general discontent I was feeling with my life choices at the time.

Freshly divorced, by my early 40’s I was starting to feel the restlessness that has recently set me on this path to refashion my life. My motto became Life is not a dress rehearsal. I forget where I first heard it, but it was quoted by Rose Tremain, a British novelist. This quote spoke directly to me, although I wasn’t quite sure why at the time. (I find that is a fascinating recurring theme in my life: something will strike me as important but I won’t be able to define why, only in later years to have it become very clear once my heart and head have caught up with my intuition.) In any case, in my early 40’s, I was not feeling a sense of mortality or urgency. This quote just struck a chord deep within me, so I adopted this as my philosophy of life, and carried on.

Some of you know that this blog, which reflects my current personal journey (which reflects similar journies of many of my boomer brothers and sisters), started almost 2 years ago after a significant personal loss which prompted a cold, hard look at my life. (To those of you who are new readers: you’ll not see older posts because I revamped the blog to reflect a new direction a few months ago.)  In looking for a tag line for this blog when I first started it in late 2008, I chose Fashioning a life, one outfit at a time. That seemed to reflect what I wanted to say. But, in the 18 months since this blog’s inception, I have done a lot of soul-searching for the meaning of life, and my purpose here, and what matters to me (that’s another post). To say that my priorities are profoundly different from what they used to be would not be an understatement. And so, when I reworked this site, I decided upon my new personal motto. It fits me like the perfect little black dress, with just enough “me” spin on it to make it personal. And, when I google that phrase, this blog is the only result.

At this stage of the game, I’m feeling calmly intent on, restlessly resolute, to live my life with deliberate intent. To set my own course, write my own chapter, blaze my own trail, or any other creation metaphor you wish to use. A lifelong lover of the exquisite art of fashion, style has always been a part of my vocabulary. When I look at myself and my life, I believe I’m a fairly typical representation of our boomer generation mindset. And what I see around me, which is wonderful, is a shift in priorities and perspective from things to thoughts, from consumerism to indivdualism, from matter to what matters. And so, I incorporated my love of style – the meaning of which has changed for me over the years – into my goal of deliberate intent, and voila, my new tagline was born. I’ve learned that style is a state of mind, not just a great pair of shoes. Living with passion, enjoying each day, embracing each experience, and being present in the moment, all contribute to living with elegance. This mindset, for me, has created deep contentment, embellished with just enough curiousity to keep questioning the status quo.

Examine your personal motto, your current philosphy of life. Does it still fit? Does it tug a little around the edges? Does it pull uncomfortably, or ride up? If so, give it some thought, look at where you are going and what you want. And create a new personal motto that is just the right fit.