among my female friends, i have three that are sisters: a pixie sister, a diva sister, and an angel sister. these three women are more than friends, they each mirror an aspect of me that is innate to my beingness, they possess this aspect as innate to their beingness. if i were having tea with my angel sister this afternoon (because she’s the easiest to whom i can acknowledge the forthcoming truths), ruthie foster’s version of maya angelou’s poem “phenomenal woman” would be playing on repeat in the background and my side of the conversation would go like this…
i find myself in the midst of transition again. i feel like i’ve been in transition for the past six years or longer, and i’m realizing that this feeling of transition, the perpetual transitions, are called “life.” life keeps changing. i keep changing. i change with the changes. i’ve celebrated my angel self, flirted with my pixie self, and neglected my diva self for the past year. i can’t be bothered to tame my frizzy hair. i haven’t worn a pair of stilettos or a corset in over a year. as i calculate the length of time since i’ve chosen from the diva side of my closet, i see my disheveled diva slumped, sluggish, and frumpy in the dusty corner. i used to wear stilettos and a string of pearls to the grocery store on a tuesday morning, just because i wanted to, and now my toes are unpainted, my feet are calloused, and since i can’t find my flip flops, i’ve been wearing papi’s flip flops which are way too big for me.
confession: my diva self faltered when i turned 40 and began questioning (ahem, doubting) whether i ought to wear short skirts with thighs highs or corsets in public anymore.
yesterday at brunch…(yes, brunch. i haven’t brunched since i can’t remember when. my diva self perked up at the invitation of brunch, but i didn’t dress up, even though i considered wearing stilettos with jeans and i almost pulled out a strand of pearls, but i didn’t.) let me begin again. yesterday at brunch two of my dear friends who will tell me exactly what i want to hear answered me in the manner i hoped when i asked them, “ do i have to stop wearing micro mini skirts now that i’m 40?” they responded something to the effect of “you have fantastic legs. age-appropriate skirt length doesn’t apply to your thighs.” i admitted to them that i asked them because i knew they’d tell me what i wanted to hear and then we got on with the business of brunching, which means drinking champagne.
i skipped yoga class this morning, because i dread yoga as often as i love yoga. instead of going to class, i picked up yesterday’s jeans off the floor, put them on, slipped my un-pedicured feet into papi’s too-big flip flops, and took out the recyclables. i waxed my lip. i decided something had to be done about my toes and started to give myself a pedicure and then gave up because my feet need more attention than i was willing to give them. i ate dark chocolate to cheer me, but it didn’t. i came to terms with the reality that my diva self is depressed. my angel self is motivated, my pixie self is charmed, and my diva self is depressed.
at this point in the conversation with my angel sister, i’d pause and listen to her wisdom, because she is wise with nurturing. she’d look lovingly at me and make a few gentle suggestions, at least one of which i’d willingly commit to doing, and then she’d try to feed me, because she loves to love people by feeding them, and she’s sensitive to my food issues, always telling me that she prepared whatever treat as low-sugar and low-fat as possible, because she loves me like that.
and then, after our conversation rolled on for a while, i’d circle back and ask her, “is there a part of you that you’ve been neglecting lately?” and since you (yes you, the you who is reading) are part of this conversation, i’m asking you, too…is there a part of you that you’ve been neglecting lately?