This past weekend was my birthday. So in between waiting for the kids to finish their potty breaks and making dinner reservations, I spent some time pondering thirty-nine years on this planet. My mind wandered to events that have impacted me in one way or another over the years and the things I still hang on to.
One moment in particular crept up and seized my attention.
“Yellow is not a good color for you, it washes you out,” said the glamorous, glamour shot make-up artist. I sat for a moment puzzled at why it was a horrible color for me. Did the site of sunshine yellow up against the yellow undertones of my skin make her want to wretch?
I didn’t think twice. I mean why would I question a beauty expert. Her dark circled eyes narrowed on mine, impatiently. I shrugged and said, “Okay, let’s go with emerald green” (don’t laugh, that color was “in” during the 90′s).
<insert senior high school picture. patience, I have to find it>
I had the epiphany, with much certainty, I have not worn a stitch of clothing with yellow in it over the last TWENTY years. A negative memory tucked away and undamaged. Like I wrapped, preserved and froze it, for later consumption.
A few birthdays back, my mother bought me a nice, very plain, yellow shirt. Nothing that would cause anyone to puke on sight. It had been sitting in my drawer, collecting moth holes. I could not bare to part with nor wear it.
It wasn’t the make-up artists fault at all. Maybe a little. Yet, more mine for letting her words resonate with me for so long and simply agreeing with her opinion.
I collected myself, the kids finished getting ready and we headed out for dinner. I made it a quiet celebration and toasted the negative garbage that would soon be on its way out.
Young and impressionable me at Prom
Got any madness you carry with you that you need to evict from your mental space?