I’m not a fashionista, but I try to look stylishly acceptable. No trends, no bare midsection, and my skinny jeans are stretchy despite their designer appearance. My shopping store favorites are Nordstrom Rack and The Loft, so when I picked up a long tie die cotton skirt at BJs, it took me by surprise. I went completely off the rack. But I really liked this muted purple skirt, not to mention it was on wicked sale.
I don’t wear it often, hippie isn’t my thing. But I like to throw it in the mix when the occasion allows. We choose what we wear based on all kinds of things – comfort, style, weather, fashion, destination, dress-up, dress-down, how it makes us feel. But one constant for me is no wrinkles or tears. That whole Flashdance ripped-tee era wasn’t for me.
For no reason the other day, I decided to take a break from my yoga pants and put on the tie die skirt. It’s comfortable and the purple hues remind me of fall. Even color or seasonal attire is another fashion motive. I was completely dressed when I noticed a tiny hole in my skirt. When I looked closer it wasn’t just one, it was two. Like sharp little cat claws may have made the pin-sized rips.
This is when being OCD really gets me. I felt this urgency to take off the skirt and quickly sew those two minuscule holes before I went on my way. That of course would involve taking it off, pulling out the sewing kit, trying to thread the needle, stitching the small jagged holes, on and on. I didn’t have the energy, or frankly the time. So I took a deep breath and said to myself, learn to live with the flaws.
As if this was some profound realization, I was proud of myself for stepping back and consciously letting it go. Learn to live with the flaws. Is that even possible for a perfectionist? I had control over fixing it in that moment and didn’t. Yikes – imperfection.
This may seem ridiculous, but learning to live with the flaws is a big deal to me because it comes at a time when I’m feeling the flaws in a lot of areas. My perimenopausal body feels the flump. My gray roots grow fast. My worn and faded condo walls are in desperate need of paint. I’ve had some difficulty with some writing assignments for a potentially permanent job. I’m in desperate need of self-care when obligations are calling first. I’m feeling a little flawed in how to think about it all.
But after overcoming that tiny torn skirt situation and wearing it with the rips, I felt this sense of achievement and even a little bit free. Does this mean I might be able to ease up on stressing the gray roots? Or the chipped nail polish? Will I give up on picking up carpet dirt specs, or wiping fingerprints off the bathroom mirror? I may however draw the line at not making the bed. For now.
Whatever really, bring on the flaws and imperfection, I’m just going to be me.