Excuse: I bought a blazer because it was on crazy sale at Banana... And I have this Art business-ey thing coming up.... and I think they are kind of hot Truth: I can't watch my gray hairs come in while I am wearing sweatpants staring at a blank canvas in my messy studio. Growing up is not what I thought it would be. I say "growing up" instead of "being grown up" because I don't believe in being grown up anymore. It doesn't feel like a real thing. I keep waiting for someone with a fancy rubber stamp to come validate my adulthood... I thought certain milestones would bring some kind of an arrival, but it didn't come; Not with graduating high school, living abroad, marriage, a college degree, nice house; even birthing a herd of small humans. I have a dog and I keep wondering who gave me permission. I send someone money, they send me a hairy thing with a pulse and needs and it's just okay, right? Let alone when you go to the hospital and they let you walk out with an actual baby. Doesn't someone want to ask for my credentials? (to clarify... I don't steal babies. My husband and I kissed a rose and put it under a rock and it turned into a diamond and we took the diamond to the hospital and there was a bird and they gave me a baby. Actually they gave me 5.... Maybe there was no bird; I don't remember, there were lots of drugs involved) Occasionally I run into someone who knows my work or assigns me some measure of excellence in my occupation and somehow I feel like I am faking it. Literally the first (only) time someone genuinely geeked-out at meeting me (me the artist, not me the grilled cheese sandwich connoisseur) I spent half the conversation wondering who she thought she was talking to! "It must be that successful person standing behind me..." (by the way I think that was my 15 (3) minutes of fame- me looking confused and slow-nodding... and not wearing a hot blazer) Being self employed, working from home, and co-mingling my work hours with activities like changing laundry and running forgotten lunches to school challenges my sense of professional accomplishment. I am the boss and the employee and I am not great at either. My boss self asks why I am not doing more and at a higher level... and doing it in heels... (See Meryl Streep, Devil wears Prada)
As an employee I'm like the pre-hot Anne Hathaway with a sign on my door that says "Will work for ice cream", next to my office hours "open for business at the 11th hour" I was over it this morning. This morning... I put on that blazer. I put on those heels. I walked around my house for exactly 25 minutes debating which coffee house I was going to go sit in while I wrote, and planned, and played grown-up until it was real. I was going to work! ... And then I did the most adult thing I have done all day. I put the blazer back on the hanger. I changed my shoes. I opened my computer. And I actually did go to work. It may take me walking around in heels for half an hour to convince the 3 year old in my brain to put on my big girl pants and be productive. But that might be okay. That might be okay. Because 11th hour or not I'll be all in; blood sweat and tears getting that painting right, and I will love it. And then I won't. But I will be grateful that I did it, and that it holds a process of struggle, and acceptance, and tenacity, and a promise of future triumphs that I can enjoy wearing any pants I want. That is all.