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Personal Purging & Pink Capes

March 6, 2017

For the last year I’ve been shoveling through my "mess".

 

A midlife cleaning up, clearing out, not unlike diving into the closet and discovering the forgotten, set aside, or outgrown ~ whether style or seam restriction the process of cinching or releasing my belt to accommodate “growth” has been uncomfortable.

 

During the process emotions rise~ a swell which beckons for elastic waistlines.

 

Next a parade of WIOH banter showers down as self-discovery reveals the poor choices and consequences which have shaped me.

 

Beneath the weight of my well aimed self-criticism I shrink from the task at hand.

 

Self-discovery, is a brutal endeavor, particularly when we enter our closet armed with a determined pitchfork and an allotted time for accomplishment.

  

Recognize shoveling is part of the process. It should be done carefully, with leather gloves for lifting the sticky burdens and pointy pains of life.

 

But also it should be done without a stopwatch.

Allow for loitering...take time to linger over the joyful memories tangled among the forgotten and outgrown.

 

Shoveling is part of the process and the process is one of Becoming.

 

Wherever we are, Whatever we are, We are sitting exactly Where we are supposed to be.

 

I lift a hanger holding a pink plaid knitted cape... Chuckling, I reflect on how this particular item made it into a closet belonging to me.

 

Nana... under the influence of round the clock QVC programming and seductive sales people, their precise lingo and charming persuasion hit the mark.

Her mind was made up for her and in a snap and... Capes for everyone!

 

 

The fabric is a stark example of how I’ve ended up where I am.

 

The cloth passes through my fingers and evokes a vivid surge within my heart’s memory ~

 

Nana’s face delighted as I opening the gift, my mask of faux enchantment unwavering as I slip the triangle over my head to model the flowing blanket of pink.

 

“So Becoming.” she said and I agreed with a twirl....yes once upon a time I’d twirl for a grandparent’s enjoyment.

 

Becoming... what a beautiful word of possibility!

A word of a generation gone by, a word used to compliment and flatter.

 

I am where I am, pink cape and all.

 

Simple results of decisions made and impacts of decisions made for me.

 

The real power is in the moving forward.

The motion of the first step is mine to choose...the effects and course correction an infinite process of discovery an exercise in Becoming.

 

We can choose stay still, but are powerless to rewind or go back. Reflection is for learning alone. The pink capes of my past are hanging....done deal...the lessons they represent I may wish to erase or undo. Perhaps the impacts felt or done were by my own hand.

 

No rewind or returns, if they’re hanging in the closet they’re mine to shovel thorough.

 

 

Take ownership... and then move forward.

Fold and donate, ball up and burn, or replace to the rack and savor the fondness of good choices and experiences.

 

This is not a time to look back with a shaming eye or with a sharp tongue, but a time to recognize...I am where I am because of choices, decisions, and impacts.

 

There is no undoing.

I am in the process of Becoming...an opportunity to learn, do better, and stand in all I’ve learned.

 

A never-ending prospect of Becoming all I can be.

 

Regardless of the contents residing in your closet....remember Dear One, you too are Becoming.

 

Every item in your past has provided invaluable growth and knowledge.

 

Moving to the mirror I hold the hanger to my chin...the pink is less offensive than I remember...the shapeless swathe from shoulders to knees hides my midlife midsection...

hmmm...a cape.

 

“So Becoming...” Nana's voice whispers.

 

Smiling, I return to the closet, lift the hanger, hook it over the rail, and pull the cord switching off the light.

 

Shovel gently.... the process of Becoming is a beautiful one.

 

Chat soon~ Laura

 

*Please help me continue the ripples in the pond

connecting women through common experience.

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