Now that my passport is getting some needed rest, I’m going to focus a little bit more on the fashion angle of my blog. I’ll be doing some serious spring cleaning and as a result, start a new series on how to change up some looks. Especially during these economic times I don’t have the heart to shop (much) and have blogged about shopping only for investment items that will take me through the fickle fashion cycles…so I will put my money where my mouth is and see if this theory does really apply in real life. I’ve also been talking to a friend about how to pull looks around a certain bag to see if an expensive bag can be both a workhorse and an ornament. The question is whether it still makes sense to spend so much money on a bag anymore? Hopefully I will get her to post her pictures as well because she’s a mommy and will have a different perspective on her wardrobe. So that’s what I’ll be blogging about these coming days.
But before I head into the abyss also known as my very scary closet, I have to say the spring cleaning must begin inside my head. Fashion serves no purpose if it’s murky between the ears. The disconnect between how you feel on the inside and how you look on the outside destroys the purpose fashion serves. How is it possible to rock a look when on the inside all you have is dead weight? This year has already flown by so quickly and as the first quarter draws to a close, my birthday rears its ugly head and I know I have to fight yet a little harder against the aging process. I don’t feel old but darn it all if I don’t already see my body betraying me. I don’t believe in aging gracefully; in fact, I plan on tumbling downhill kicking and screaming. So yesterday I began a 90-day program that blends pilates, yoga, cardio and extreme core exercises. The worst part was not waking up this morning in pain in places I didn’t know I had in my body but looking at the pictures taken of myself in my swimsuit before I started the class yesterday. The “before” photos are supposed to serve as incentive for sticking with the program, but in fact I find them to define the five stages of grief. So far I’ve been in denial (that’s not my derriere in the picture–someone must have doctored those photos!), gotten angry (who the heck invented gravity!), tried to bargain (maybe I don’t really have to ever go swimming again), and gotten depressed (trust me, flabbiness can bring on the blues). I’m just waiting for acceptance to kick in.
I’ve learned to live without a scale and, for the last ten years or so, have gauged my “comfort weight” with how loosely or snugly I fit in the same pair of jeans. I”ve been on and off the yoga/pilates wagon and wish I could get back inside a dance studio on a regular basis. But as stress and life get in the way, I’ve let laziness become a symptom of my lifestyle, and this body that was once so toned is becoming a sad marshmallow. Not even a nice firm marshmallow but one of those melting ones when you make rice crispies.
But unlike other things that I can’t easily change in my life, my health, body, and mind are things I can control. I’ll blog about my progress at the 30, 60, and finally 90-day mark of my training. Who knows, I might even find the courage to get into a short dress at that final milestone. And actually leave the house in it. Maybe then I can finally accept the fact that this is the only body I’ll have for the rest of this ride. So I’d better treat it right. I hope you’ll join me in your spring cleaning.