Steadiness in Seasons

Donning denim to cultivate steadiness, comfort, ease in the befriending of October, and the lessons autumn offers to gently teach me.

***

“What should I pack? What should I bring?”

An open suitcase beckons possibilities.

I pause before answering my mother’s question.

October in Austin. The heat still flares. The sweat still pours. The appearance of Halloween décor is the only cue to the supposed arrival of fall.

Skulls snicker from the prickly crowns of cacti.  Pumpkin shaped twinkle lights gleam in tangerine in 80 degrees.  Thick cobwebs wrap and reach across palm leaves.

My sense of season is utterly befuddled.

I yearn for the coolness signaling autumn. I wistfully miss the grandeur, the gorgeousness, the spellbinding spectacle of fall in Kentucky. The trees flash out into a fashion show of ruby reds, burnt ambers, buttery yellows, and every street transforms into a riveting catwalk where the trees arrest and astound with their glorious debut of rich autumn hues.

The change in the trees, the darkening of the days, the crispness of the mornings, the coolness of nights initiated the anticipated transition to sweaters, jackets, jeans and boots, and the final nod to the official declaration of the season: flannel.

“What do y’all wear in Austin in the fall?”

I take my mother’s question seriously.

I think of the parade of tourists and natives meandering through the boutique.

There are shorts paired with comfy sweaters. There are white dresses and cowgirl boots. There are long skirts and crop tops...and to my fashionista astonishment, there’s even flannel. (Y’all gotta have Texan blood for sure to pull out the flannel at the drop of 70 and below.)

An answer to my mother’s question shimmers in visions of autumn adorned trees. Take a fashion tip from the trees: dress brilliantly, unabashedly, ready to shed and let go, open to flowing and working with the mercurial tidings of the season.

“Dress in layers.”

Have a conversation with the closet: Long dress to cultivate effortless elegance. Ankle boots to channel a bit of Texas spirit. (Take bold steps, darling.) Denim jacket to greet and close the day and shield against too strong blasts of AC.

Let feeling decide the apparel. Let feeling style the ensemble. Let feeling piece together the outfit that will exude and renew the feeling throughout the day.

Take a tip from the trees on bending and leaning with feeling: rooted to core, rooted to the unconditional nourishment of the earth, cultivate the steadiness to be present in the ever-changing landscape of feeling.

Steadiness is a buzz word of mine.

My life in Austin has been a series of unexpected upheavals – personally, professionally, and I strive to stay close, and closer to a calm center as I move as mindfully and purposefully as possible through the choppy waters.

Steadiness cultivated through morning meditation, prayer, a makeup routine narrated by NPR segments.

Drinking water, lots of water, and a few kombucha, too. Evening yoga. Walks. Journaling.

Acts of self-love manifest in cleaning dishes right after the meal, keeping a tidy room, having a grocery routine, practicing the pause to feel the answer before responding.

Steadiness is the topic of conversation with my sparkling Leo friend. Over sushi, she speaks of my astrological chart. She explains the seas circulating and creating my Gemini being.

The moon in Cancer signifies deep waters, fierce currents, tides of unwavering feeling.

My moon in Cancer, I kid (half-heartedly) saves me from the shallowness that can typically define Gemini.  

Blessing. Curse. Strength. Weakness.

There are waves that propel me forward. There are waves that threaten to drown.

Steadiness teaches me to coast. 

Steadiness. Security. Ease.

Am I an adult now because I gravitate toward these words, find them tantalizing and sexy? 

Or is this a part of my nature realized in full?

Routine grounds.  

Ritual comforts and clarifies.  

Rhythm steadies.

I exist in a rich realm of complex feeling, and so the routine, the ritual, the rhythm returns me back to the intelligence of my body, reunites me with the breath, reconnects me back or closer to the core of calm existing within the momentum.

“Dress in layers. Bring what feels like WOW. Come ready to play.”

I want my mama to love my Austin.

I want my mama to see the magic I use to see.

Experiences can layer on top of a place and change the view, and I desire to encompass the wonder of a visitor and the knowledge of a resident. Native and new all at once.

Take a tip from trees: letting go of perfectionism is freeing.

I let go of my idealistic vision of showing off a well-established life in Austin, but I am far from secured steadiness here. Nothing is secure, including how long I stay.

And I cultivate the steadiness to be rooted to self in the uncertainty, to enjoy what is here and where I am now, and to do the best I can do to show off a city that like the best October, keeps revealing itself to me, that is unfolding in its own seasons, mirroring the seasons within me. 

“Then I’ll bring my cowgirl boots.”

Yes, and she does, and she’s looks Austin chic.

We walk in cowgirl boots in neighborhoods adorned in spooktacular décor, relishing a shift in weather. 

When my mother does visit, the final burst of summer fades into softer, cooler, lighter days. We need this break in heat. We need this transition to breathe through the news that my grandmother, a Libra, a baby of October, a woman who boasts that October is simply the most marvelous birthday month because the trees change in celebration, she’s in transition, too.

There’s the click of boots against pavement, the pace of the walk to remind me to stay steady in the natural cycles of living and passing, to stay steady in the ebb and flow of emotion traveling with the cycles. 

We pull on denim jackets and long sweaters to revel in the cold breeze, to huddle in closer to center as we stroll into a season instructing steadiness in change.

The Work

“Style is knowing who you are, what you want to say, and not giving a damn." ~ Orson Welles, this is very true, and I think your words relate fashionably well to styling a meaningful life, too.

***

I slice my finger open on the hanger.

There is blood. The rivulets of red threaten to stain the pristine shirts displayed on the rack.

I escape to the bathroom. Water cascades over the cut. I wash and rewash the wound with soft soap.

This slither of sliced fingertip stings, and the piercing echo reverberates through my entire hand, up into my arm.

The accidental wounding forces me to listen.  

For the first time during my shift, I pause to breathe, and listen to layers of sound clashing and creating the cacophony of life that is my new workplace.

Outside the bathroom door Beyoncé’s “Hold Up” begins to play.

Outside the bathroom door, conversations overlap from troupes of tourists stopping in while meandering around Austin’s legendary South Congress strip. There are adamant exclamations of praise from a gang of girlfriends raising their voices to embrace and encourage their fellow friend to BUY the dress (because, damn, girl, it’s on sale!).

There’s the screech and swoosh of hangers as clothes are pulled, examined, and either determinedly selected or left to swing back into place to be left in anticipation for an interested fashion mate. Pops of laughter punctuate the unfolding invisible scene, and I catch fragments of an ongoing debate on whether or not to buy the shoes (but do they look like me?).  

Outside the door is a whirling dervish of life manifesting as my current decision.  

Are you listening, now?

I cut myself because I was moving through the motions, mindlessly, numbly, fearfully.

Fear. I am making decisions based from the foundation of fear, of scarcity. 

I cradle a finger oozing blood, and listen, not to Beyoncé, but to the question incessantly on repeat.

What am I doing with my life?

I’m too cognizant of time to not feel this question hovering over my daily routine.

I’m too passionate to become comfortable and content in nonchalance.

I’m too concerned with the state of the world to simply coast by and play, at least in the general sense of the word…I yearn for a work rhythm that feels like play because what I do and how I do it nurtures my spirit and invites an expansion and a dynamic allowing of my lightheartedness and my seriousness.

Perhaps I’m too demanding in my needs and wants for a work place to ever match what I seek, so then it’s up to me to figure out a blending and a meeting of passions and purposes so I can establish a sense of ease, a sense of fulfillment in purpose.

Then, how? How do I merge and utilize my talents, my passions, my heartaches toward achieving and wholeheartedly living a life that feels deeply purposeful and serves humanity?

There’s no answer. There’s restlessness, and eagerness, and even a desperation to race toward blooming, but I’m scattered and unclear in the HOW.

And so here I am in the bathroom of an all-star boutique, feeling the weight of the question as Beyoncé sings and ladies pass by marveling at sale finds.

What am I doing with my life?

This. Time to claim it.

This messy, bloody, chaotic moment is part of the answering, is an integral part of figuring it out.

As a dazzling astrologer friend of mine recently told me over sushi, there is no arriving. There is no moment where everything is tidied up and we feel absolutely content. I mean, there may be, but we’re meant to grow, to expand, to constantly push the comfort zone.

Working in a boutique has pushed my comfort zone. The cash register demands all my thinking-power and pulls me back to silently practicing basic math and folding skills as I bop around the store.

The truth is the work is already here. My soul-calling is not waiting. My soul-work doesn’t start with the next job, whatever that may be, and it certainty doesn’t begin once life is smooth and peaceful and perfect.

My soul-work is outside that bright red bathroom door where people flow in and around displays of jewelry, shoes, leather jackets and skinny jeans.

The soul-work is showing up, staying true, and practicing presence in listening and seeing people, the guests and my coworkers, in acceptance and love.

The moment I rise up to meet life exactly as it, and channel my awareness and energy, my intentionality of love toward the sway and sweep of boutique work is when I reclaim power and purpose. This is the moment when I can dwell in the calm in the storm, or find peace in between the Beyoncé and Frank Ocean playlist.

What am I doing with my life?

I’m living it. Bloody finger and open heart. I’m full-fledged committed to the work, and the soul-work is in staying true to myself and trusting my gut, in practicing forgiveness for all my stumbling and failings in this transition.

I take three steady, slow breaths. I am here in this in between chapter that is fashionably rich in offering lessons in pausing and practicing presence in uncertainty. 

I am here and I am listening. 

I doctor up my finger, and slip back out into the boutique, and mindfully move to Nicki Minaj as I flow right back into the colorful, glittery unknown of the ever-changing boutique scene.