longing

Day 17 of the Yearlong Clothes-Buying-Fast

It’s day seventeen of my yearlong Clothes-Buying-Fast.
But who’s counting?
Only 348 to go!

Just today I walked past my favorite high-end consignment shop on my way to meet some artist friends at a close by coffee haunt. This is the store where I get my nice things – my Lulu Lemon yoga clothes, my Italian boots, my Coach bags.

The store is small, sits on a corner and has large windows with displays of fun, funky, elegant fashion for a third of the retail price. Now, on any regular day, in past years, I would have allotted time to pop into my favorite store, peruse the well-curated wares and most likely (because, whose kidding who?) buy something.

Something new.
Something that feels good.
Something that looks fabulous.
Something I don’t need, because, well, I probably have something like it at home already.

But today was different.
Today I knew I wouldn’t be going into that store to look around and dream about where I could wear the new item I might find on my treasure hunt.

Today, I had to resist temptation.
I walked by.

Of course, I looked.

I saw the cute leather bags in the window, the snazzy cowboy boots paired with flared maroon pants. I saw an irresistible sweater I would want to try on if I opened the door and stepped in. I felt the longing, the pang, the desire, and at that point I turned my head away, focused on the few steps I needed to take to get safely to the coffee shop without walking through the doors.

“Whew,” I said to myself under my breath. “That was hard. This yearlong Clothes-Buying-Fast is going to TEST me.”

I must confess, however, last night I went to a clothing exchange. Clothing exchanges are on the “OK” list. There is no cash involved. Only clothes exchanged from my closet with other peoples’ clothes from their closets. I was lucky enough to haul home three dresses, two new pair of leggings, some “new” slippers and two gifts.

Let’s just say, I’d gotten the hit of adrenaline that happens when we find some new piece of clothing we like. Right ladies? You know what I’m talking about 

Even though I’d just come home with “new” items, I felt the familiar feeling walking by my corner store. I felt the longing to run my hands over beautiful THINGS, cashmeres, silks, fondle the leather bags. And this desire is not born out of need.

It is born out of some deeper place of want.
Of desire.
Of promise.

Yes, it is a promise of having something so fabulous, so beautiful that it will make me feel that much more beautiful. It’s the promise of having some place to wear it, go out, enjoy the titillating excitement of, perhaps, a date.

Oh.
There.

I said it.

A date.

It’s been years.
It’s really been a lifetime that I haven’t dated.
Because I never really have.

I’ve never liked dating.
The truth is, I don’t know how to date.
I’m really a much better friend.
Much better partner.

But dating is so gray and in-between.
It’s all about feeling things out.
Trying things on.
Saying yes to this.
No to that.

It’s full of potential pitfalls.
Hurt feelings.
Rejection.
Misunderstandings.
Confused boundaries.

The truth is, I’d rather scrub the grout clean between the tiles on my kitchen floor before choosing to date.

I don’t want to end up in the rejection pile, like old clothes that don’t get chosen at the clothing exchange and wait in a pile to go to the Women’s Shelter.

So, perhaps this year is about getting even more comfortable with the clothes I have, the ones I already love and spend time living into the promise of my own life.

Perhaps, then the new kick ass boots, or fabulous new bag will land in my life from out of nowhere, like the non-date who will show up with no warning and it will feel just right.

Weren’t we beautiful?

Photo Aug 17, 12 47 22 PM.jpg

Weren’t we beautiful? 
The way we used to dance and twirl, drip sweat onto the floor, push and pull each other’s arms and hands, fierce strong legs pressed down into the wood beneath our feet? Weren’t we beautiful the way we touched, just fingers, ever so lightly as the Chopin music filled the room, the morning’s buttery sun light warmed our arms and we gazed with open hearts all the way down the river of blue eyes or brown eyes meeting in the soul?

Weren’t we beautiful, the way we used to run and jump into each other’s arms, you lifting me, me wrapping my legs around you and we’d hold there, as one together for a moment, feeling the heat of one another’s bodies, the beat of each other’s hearts, hearing the breath moving through the lungs and smelling the hint of mint tea or coffee on the other’s breath.

Weren’t we beautiful in our physical forms, writhing to the music, swinging around each other, hopping, tip toeing, stomping the beats, hips swiveling, spine’s undulating? We felt the power of stomp and clap, would get lost in the reveries of song. Hearts opened with gratitude, longing, sadness, ecstasy, joy. 

Weren’t we beautiful? 
Those days feel like a distant cousin, a thing of the past. 

Now we dance in our living rooms, share ourselves with hundreds of little squares on a screen. We stare into laptops, watch figures move and arms flail in their own little pods while we wiggle hips. The music streams from the same source, the beat is one.

But there is no heat of the other, no pulse in the heart, the loins, no sweat exchanged. Solo, alone, confined, constricted.

Now we zoom. 
Dance and ZOOM. 
Safe in our isolated bubbles. 

Oh, don’t get me wrong, I’m grateful to be in one collective for a moment in time, but I feel the longing to touch, to hug, to bump hips, to nestle up to my own kind, feel the heat of blood and muscles moving underneath the skin. 

Underneath the skin.

I do. 
It’s true.
Don’t you?