Finding Freedom From Fixtures

After recently taking a workshop with Marylee Fairbanks (http://maryleefairbanks.com/) I have decided to begin my own "24 Things" challenge (http://maryleefairbanks.com/24-things/). The rules are simple: each day for 24 days you let go of something that has been cluttering up your house, something that no longer serves you, objects that will be better suited at a yard sale, donation box, or in a trash barrel. During the 24 day release, one should only purchase necessities-- food, medical care, etc. All other material desires should be added to an ongoing list. If you are able to remember the items on your list at the end of the 24 days, then you are free to purchase them, otherwise they are likely to have been unimportant. According to Marylee, "The clutter in our house reflects the clutter in our hearts." Are we clinging to mementos of past relationships? Unwanted gifts that we were too polite to turn away? Clothes that haven't fit for years? Objects that no longer reflect who we are currently in this ever-changing body and mind of ours? Are the things we surround ourselves with keeping us rooted in the past, preventing us from blossoming into the future? In order to invite abundance into our lives, we must eliminate the unnecessary clutter that surrounds us.

Although Marylee recommends four cycles, corresponding to the four seasons, of 24 Things each year, the timing of her most recent workshop and the significance of this period in my own life could not have been better. I will be beginning my solitary 24 Things today, April 29th exactly one year after my (ex) husband told me he was moving out. In exactly 24 days I will turn 28 years old. I cannot think of a better way to mark the end of a year of transformation and to usher in another year of abundance, love, and gratitude for this life that constantly challenges and inspires me.

"One good thing to remember when clearing out is this: If you have an object that makes the past feel more important than the future then you should let it go. The past is gone. Your present is all that need be nourished." ~Marylee Fairbanks

Monday, June 10, 2013

Day 43: 80s Outfit

In the year when my husband and I first moved back to Massachusetts after living together in Georgia, we still went out together, still had some semblance of a happy marriage. Our apartment was located just a few blocks from a local VFW. Drawn by the inexpensive beer and companionship he couldn't find elsewhere, my husband became a member and spent much of his free time in the smoke filled bar. He would come home and tell me of the former soldiers he'd met, men he looked up to for having fought valiant wars and lived to tell their stories long into old age.  He joined the board somewhat reluctantly and he and the only other Iraq veteran started organizing events to bring money into the club that desperately needed a new roof.

They decided to open up the function room for an eighties night. They hired a DJ to play music from the decade of hair metal bands and women with too-tall teased hair.  My husband said everyone would be dressed in eighties apparel also-- leg warmers, side-ponytails, and off-the shoulder shirts were what came to mind.

I was still working two jobs and he the overnight shift, so we didn't find time to put together outfits until two hours before the event was set to begin. We drove to the mall. He purchased a Guns N' Roses t-shirt from Hot Topic. I looked around, grew more and more anxious, not accustomed to fast shopping trips and not able to find anything that seemed right.  Ten minutes before we had to head home to be on time for the function we wandered into a store I frequented in ninth grade that sold poorly made, inexpensive clothing for teenagers. They had a table of leggings or tights-- I'd seen my high school students wear them as both.  I picked out a pair that was fluorescent pink-- the furthest thing from my usual muted wardrobe of browns, greens, blues, and black. We found a black shirt with pink glittery decorations and the word "ROCK" written in messy lettering. I laughed at how ridiculous both items were, but, pressed for time, decided to go with them.

At home, I added pair of black shorts that I'd had since eighth grade that were too short to serve as anything except sleepwear. The hot pink tights hardly looked like my legs coming out of the black shorts and connecting to my black Doc Martens. I stretched the neck of the shirt so that I could expose one shoulder. I pulled my long hair into a side pony-tail and was ready to go.

Since the VFW was so close to home we walked there. I wore my winter trench coat over my ensemble, worried that one of my students would be hiding at the end of my street with a camera phone ready for just the occasion. I hid in the shadows as my husband crossed the main street to go to the ATM. When we walked into the function room I immediately felt all eyes turn to me.

Seated at a dozen round tables were Korean and World War II veterans wearing their best suits, seated beside their wives who wore classy dresses. My husband was dressed the same way he always did-- he'd simply replaced his normal 90s band t-shirt with one from the 80s. He had on ripped jeans, his jungle combat boots that were popular during Vietnam, and a baseball hat. Even though it was sweltering in the room, I pulled my trench coat shut around me and hoped my hot pink tights didn't show too much from beneath. My husband had invited his sister and several friends. They hadn't arrived yet, but were supposed to meet us there. He saw the embarrassment in my face as I tried to hide behind the trash barrel against the wall and asked if I wanted to leave or go home and change. I didn't want to ruin the night, so I did the only thing I could do in such an embarrassing situation, I ordered drinks, heavy with vodka, and gulped them down until I felt comfortable hanging my trench coat on the back of my chair.

His friends came, but none of them were as out of place as I was. Some other young people showed up, also in costume, and, with the help of the Cape Cods I'd been throwing back all night, I felt fine.  I shook my shoulders from my seat to the beat of the music and caved in to my sister-in-law's attempts to get me to shake it up on the dance floor. The party ended early and we decided to relocate to a local bar. My husband asked if I wanted to go home and change first, but by then I'd reached a whole new level of not caring. I hardly drew second glances at the bar whose regulars could have come out of a science fiction novel.

I kept the tights and shirt, thinking that maybe someday I'd have another 80s night and need an outfit in a flash. If the opportunity to dress out of character ever presents itself again, I think I'd rather risk having to find another outfit than bringing back the memories from this flashy fabric.
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