At 31 years old there are some things about myself that I should have come to terms with by now. Typically, the road through self-discovery to self-acceptance is just that: a journey. We travel along, discover a characteristic that was hiding or veiled, and bring it to the light for examination. It’s here that I get stuck. Generally speaking, it’s here that we have a choice: accept said trait exactly as it is & do something with it, or trash it and move along. My pattern has seemingly been to throw it in my Gucci messenger to deal with later. I simply cannot decide if what I’ve learned about myself is desirable or discardable. After a few miles, you guessed it, the baggage has added up and suddenly I’m desperate to inventory the sticky conglomeration that I’ve accumulated. The mess is too overwhelming and I want to just chuck it all and start over. But what if I let go of something wonderful? What if that potential for greatness that everyone says I have (you know… if I ever got my shit together) is stuck to an “I like the color fushia”-style gum wrapper? Why can’t I clean through the collection of stuff that is Sara and decide what is worth keeping?
No one likes to clean out their emotional closet. And how many of us know ourselves enough to make those decisions… the really big ones… without regret? Who isn’t terrified of the potential they possibly threw away when they decided that it wasn’t as important to teach as it was to earn a good living? Just like ditching a pair of really beautiful ill-fitting Christian Louboutins is painful, so is letting go of those dreams and talents that you once cherished but allowed to fall into disrepair.
That is what this blog is about, my friends. I’ve begun to clean out the mess and discover what is salvageable, and not just because it’s pretty but because it’s functional. Writing – that’s a keeper. It might need some mending and polishing up, but it’s my one designer trait that deserves its day on the Red Carpet.
Stay tuned, fashion junkies.