On Friday I put down my laptop, stopped decluttering my house before the big move, and brunched with a dear friend.
One of the many things I love about this friend, is how she meets me on a big conversation level. We don’t do small talk, we go straight to the guts of our lives.
One of the things we talked about was emptying our heads of the clutter. We have too many passwords and too much information. We talked about what we have let go of as we have become older and what matters now.
My friend reminded me that once I told her that my philosophy on life was that ‘you can’t care about everything.’
One of her leave behinds is pop music, which I totally get, but I am forced to know about such ear-clutter, because of two teenagers in my house.
My leave behind is giving a crap about impressing people and no longer assessing things as ‘fabulous’.
My problem with the word ‘fabulous’ is that its actual meaning comes from the word fable. It’s a word that means that something is almost impossible to believe.
Guess what? When faced with what seems a fabulous life, it’s usually not real. One of the main offenders of this in recent pop culture is the TV show Sex and the City.
Now this show isn’t relevant anymore, and no one gives a shit about those women and their futile search for the best shoes, handbag and lovers. It all seems a bit sad now when I watch an episode. Archetypes of women who believe that that the value of one’s identity is found through acceptance by a peer group.
Haven’t we left high school?
Sex and The City has been replaced by Lena Dunham‘s show Girls. Twenty something women, who want to know their place in the world and how they can be appreciated for their brains, not their looks and still find love.
One is a TV show is about trying to remain in perpetual adolescence and one is a show about trying to grow up.
Imagine if my generation had this instead of the message from Sex and the City?
Perhaps then my generation of women we wouldn’t be so concerned about the exterior while neglecting the interior. This whole bullshit of Yummy Mummy’s drives me to distraction. What are they actually teaching their children?
I don’t care about being fabulous, or impressing anyone. Once I did, when I was younger, and self-worth was low in the well of content. Now self-worth stocks are up and any meangirling bullshit has been decluttered from my life.
As I remind my teenage daughter, beauty fades. Starting working on others skills. At forty odd, you haven’t been the prettiest girl in the room for years, the trick is knowing you haven’t been, and having worked on other parts of yourself in that time.
I don’t care what people think of me and what I look like or what I write. You have to not care, when you receive reviews for your work. Some are amazing and some are scathingly personal. Neither ones matter in the end, because if I start trying to write for others and not myself, then I haven’t learned a thing.
In some ways my life is fabulous, if you use the actual definition of the word. My segue into writing came from a dark night (or years) of the soul and on the other side was my own Land of Oz. It’s a fable and inspiring to read but trust me, it’s a been a long and ugly war to get to where I am now. Think of Victoria Beckham, who once said, ‘it’s exhausting being fabulous’.
Was she for real? Or was this ironic? Or does she think the term ‘ironic’ is a new type of hair straightener?
Does she mean that it’s exhausting pretending all the time? It must be debilitating being her; with those silly skinny arm poses, stupidly high shoes, and eating an air souffle three times a day.
My therapist and I spoke of the fact I have reached a sort of spiritual nirvana this year in regards to my understanding about life.
I am my own Dorothy, who finally knows what matters in my own life, what home actually looks like and who I want to see when I get there. Home isn’t a house, it’s state of mind. When I sit with my friend at brunch, laughing and sometimes crying, I am home. When I talk to my friend on the phone, I am home. When I get a kiss for no reason, I am home. When I celebrate my loved ones successes I am home.
Gee, it’s an incredibly lovely place to live, I suggest you let go of whatever is holding you down, click your heels and find your own mellow brick road. You won’t regret it, I promise you friends.
“If I ever go looking for my heart’s desire again, I won’t look any further than my own back yard. Because if it isn’t there, I never really lost it to begin with.”
― L. Frank Baum, The Wonderful Wizard of Oz