I’ve been having a strange week. Last Friday I had the day off, which I really did mean to spend proofreading since I have a nice big job due on the 21st, but which I instead spent in several chairs for several hours at a hair salon. Since November, I’ve changed my hairstyle four times and the colour twice. This time, I went Annie Lennox short and bleached it platinum. Totally different from the copper bob I sported before that, the shoulder-length dirty blond hair before that, and the really long ponytail before that.
Never in my life have I experienced such weirdness as a result. I still get a surprise when I catch myself in the mirror but I do recognize me and otherwise I forget I’ve done anything to my hair until I see someone react in surprise.
What’s strange is that some people don’t recognize me at all. Patients at the clinic have no idea who I am and treat me differently, or are unsure, tentatively asking me if I’m the same girl they saw last week. Library staff I worked with for two years didn’t know who I was today. Even a good friend hadn’t a clue that my profile picture on Facebook was of me.
It’s led me to wonder: How much of our identity is tied up in our physical appearance? How much do I let out; how much is true? Not too long ago, one friend said she didn’t know the half of me, even though we’ve been friends for almost ten years. How do people see me as opposed to how I see myself?
This got me thinking about how different I have felt lately in general, mainly since I started working outside our home. That in turn led me into my archives of a year ago, when I was editing full-time, to read completely different writing than what I’ve been (hardly) producing of late. My past writing is much better than the crap I’ve been putting out recently. It’s written with more thought, more focus, more care. When I had more time to observe and philosophize and dream and joke and be me.
I suddenly look up to find the moon and know that’s me: I’m a moon lover; it seems to call to me. I see my books, my half-finished mugs of tea, my scattered proofed pages, my blanket to keep me cozy. All me. But I read my current writing, I take stock of the errors I’ve carelessly and even consciously brushed off, I note the lack of inspiration, the preoccupation, the utter lack of focus, the absorption in work matters, the vacuous pauses as I try to finish typing a sentence. Those things don’t feel like me. They bother me. They feel as though I’ve left myself somewhere. Not in the hunks of naturally dirty blond hair I left behind on the floor of the salon a while ago, but rather in squirrelling away myself and my own interests deep down while I go through the routine of struggling every morning to get up, of making my way to work and being the amiable, energetic receptionist everyone loves all day; while I have a job and don’t spend time with my husband and my dog; while I normally don’t have or make time to emote and interact with friends and drink London Fog tea at cool places called The Tenth Ox.
Today, however, I did make time for a dear friend, a kindred spirit I haven’t seen in ages. We talked for hours, and in the course of this she said very lovely things about me. Most significantly, my friend said she saw something in me right away when we met this afternoon: a huge energy, a vibrancy. That I’m meant to do something big, that the world needs me. That I have everything I need and all that has to happen is I allow it out. That I recognize it, believe in it, share it. She articulated it much better than I (which frustrates me as I try to tell this story), but she voiced everything that is the opposite of how I traditionally see myself. To hear it made me feel excited and freaked out and on the verge of empowerment that I could allow if I wasn’t so strangely afraid. It was like looking into a mirror and seeing me as someone else sees me.
She totally addressed, without knowing it, this constant urge I’ve had to be significant, to do something amazing, to be someone living fully, doing extraordinary things, to have a large and positive impact. I’ve always agonized over this (but what should I do and what if people think I suck and if I think I suck and can’t do it and am afraid?), but out of nowhere she said, “All you have to do is make yourself available. You said you never do this anymore, you never get out, you never hang out with friends, etc. So do it. You have something big. Just get out and share it. The opportunities will make themselves known.”
Okay, something like that, only way better. She said perfect things. I wish I had taken notes or had a tape recorder. I swear it was sort of like God sitting there and telling me something really relevant and significant and it made me feel as though I’ve been selfish keeping myself to myself. To top it off there was a pack of fairy cards we could play with. Each of us drew one and mine was called Inner Power, all about everything we’d just been talking about, and so eerily worded it was as though it had been listening in on the conversation and was directly answering things I’d expressed. Very freaky, but the message was clear: I have what it takes, and I can do great things.
I feel as though first I have to unshackle myself from many things, but then, why waste time? Perhaps the only thing I need to do to move forward is start saying YES.
![Reblog this post [with Zemanta]](http://img.zemanta.com/reblog_e.png?x-id=c535214a-a39c-4a84-b4b8-a414e78dfac9)
That’s not to say I take on too much or say yes to everything. Mainly, I think I mean saying yes more to things I’m otherwise afraid of. Even still, this morning, I don’t feel very convinced. I’d like to say no to everything except getting on a plane and going somewhere warm for a long, long time.
Hey, I think you should do that (getting on a plane) or something very like it. I must admit your older posts were better written and easier to read but your later post SAY more…..if that makes any sense.
I feel somewhat like what you are feeling, though I know the answer to my problems. Get on the motorbike and ride till my butt hurts so much I can’t walk, then ride some more. It blows the cobwebs from my mind and I come back calm, rested and more importantly, focused. As you say it, it unshackles me.
Keep it up, you’re doing great!
Eyeteaguy
P.S. when I cut my hair and shaved my beard my boss stopped me going into my office, wanted to know who I was. Very funny.
Thanks for sharing this. I love these words: “You have something big. Just get out and share it. The opportunities will make themselves known.” It’s so true. You have to get out there, put yourself out there, for something to happen. Yes, this is incredibly scary, but it is often very, very worth it.
Steph
It sounds like you need to get drunk with me and Brett.
Eyeteaguy can come too, if he wants.
PS. I did the opposite.
When I was out of work 8 years ago, I took the summer off and drove around North America. I left the house clean shaven, and came back three months later with a big bushy beard. (I never realized I could grow one before).
When I came home my mom laughed and LAUGHED.
@Eyeteaguy: If I were single I would have been gone ages ago. But it seems weird as a married woman to just take off, if I could afford it, on my own for a while, to go gallivanting in places I really want to visit. What is the equivalent of that? Armchair travelling? Escaping in fiction? Driving around till I run out of gas (I never fill the car so I would likely get stranded because I never think to even check the levels). Dunno. Whatever I do now is either not long enough or not right enough.
Sometimes I really blame it on working for someone else. When I started working outside our home in November: that’s when I can pinpoint the change in me, when I started becoming the less communicative and aware person I feel I am now. But then when I was working from home, I spent a lot of time, too much time, wasting time. I think I became self-absorbed. At least I had more to write about, though!
Thank you for your encouragement; it means a lot to me, coming from a guy whose comments elsewhere are pretty smart-aleck-y!
@Postively Present: Hey, welcome! I know you’re right. It makes sense! But yeah, it’s getting that courage to do it. I have to find in me that true reason why I should. I don’t think it’s only something you can be told; it’s definitely also something you have to feel and believe.
@Friar: The last time I got drunk was in my teens. I don’t get it, so I don’t bother! Besides, I’m too much of a control freak to get drunk.
I’m sure I’ve seen you with a beard! Don’t you still have one? My dad grew one like that every now and then. We called him Bushwhacker (though on second thought, perhaps that wasn’t appropriate). It’s one of his greatest pleasures, not having to shave, but he only allows himself that treat while camping.
PS. Your mom rocks.
@Steph
The you should just come over and watch me and Brett get drunk.
(We’re quite entertaining, I assure you).
Where do you think we get our ideas for all these blog posts?
@Friar: So alcohol is your Muse, eh? I just find that she can be such a bitch the morning after.
@Steph
No…alcohol just makes me tired. It’s the combination of alcohol and brainstorming with Brett that gets my creativity going.
Blah blah blah, let’s see a picture!!!!!
I don’t know if I can do that. Since I can’t see what I look like through other people’s eyes, I don’t know which is the best one. I’m all self-conscious. Besides, it seems narcissistic. And it gives people preconceived notions. Better to let the writing give you who I am, no?
Oh, look. It must the spring.
The snow’s melting. The robins are back.
And Steph changed her theme again.
Wait…did the theme just CHANGE…right now….again…as I entered this comment?
LOVE the new theme.
That conversation with your friend sounds like an amazing moment. You’re lucky because we have so few of those in life.
Um, yeeesss, and it’s still changing…maybe.
SW: It *was* an amazing moment. In fact, it was an incredibly amazing afternoon. I love having friends like her, but I wish I made them more of a priority!!
PS. Friar: We had snow today and negative temps with the windchill. Hence my restlessness for something spring-y!