Cleaning out the closet
Not sure why it’s so hard to write these days. Too much is happening, on too many levels. Changes in my personal life, my professional life, my inner life.
I came home from the weekend and started cleaning out the closets. Well, I actually only have one, so it’s cleaning out the closet. I carry three big boxes to the Goodwill. One a box of assorted goofy lingerie that I used to use for costumes, for slumber parties, stuff that no one would want to wear for real, not even me. The classic was a strapless bra made of a sort of plastic-y foam like substance, big pastel flowers like the 70’s – God, it was funny to wear it those few times that I did. Now it will hide in someone else’s closet.
Another box of only slightly less strange stuff I thought I would wear for some session sometime, but never do. Out you go. The truth is I love dressing up, but it really takes someone to appreciate it. Next time I need a box of strange stuff I’ll have to head back to the Goodwill again.
Today I did get to wear the bright red velvet bra that I talked my friend out of last year when she wore it over a t-shirt as part of a super woman costume. Oh – and I did add this one on my last trip to the Goodwill – a black satin jacket that says ‘valet parking’. I’m waiting for the chance to wear it with - nothing else. Well, black boots maybe.
Cleaning out the closets always signals cleaning out the psyche for me. Outside reflects the inside.
Some things I’ve noticed – a belief that I am not allowed to be happy if anyone around me is not, that being happy around others who are not is just plain mean.
Well that’s a swell choice, isn’t it?
And a correlate that telling the truth is not welcome. It doesn’t have to be mean truth, just me saying what’s true about me – just not ok or good for other people. I mean, look how they never like it. Look how many times I have disappointed.
No wonder I have had the feeling that relationship costs me so much. And how much pain have I caused by not being willing to disappoint, not wanting to cause pain. Shit.
So I clean out the closets. Old plastic bras, old beliefs.
Some years ago, I came home one day and started packing up to move. I didn’t realize I was ready to move in with my lover until I noticed myself packing. A few months later, we did.
Now I have lived alone for a year and half, and have no idea what comes next except that something is about to change. I clean out the closet, organize a few files drawers, get rid of half my books, re-format the spare hard drive, and the real kicker – clean out underneath the bathroom sink. Egad. This is serious.
Something is about to change.