Are you who you were?

When I was a freshman in college, my first experience as a theater major was participating in creating a collaborative play created by my fellow theater classmates and an English class. The English students submitted stories from their parents, grandparents and other ancestors; we submitted our own life stories. Then the whole thing was turned into a script and performed by my theater class as a two-part play exploring the differences and similarities between generations entitled, "Are We Who They Were?"

This title has come up again for me recently, but more in the form of "Am I Who I Was?" It was triggered by watching Jessi Arrington's TED talk on "Wearing Nothing New." If you haven't seen it, you can (and should!) watch it below (it's short). I also wrote about it from the public speaking perspective here.



I was once like Jessi in my thrift shopping zeal and love of colorful outfits. I still am, in fact, but you'd never know it.

Back in high school I shopped in thrift stores because it was the cool thing to do and, as I was a kid, I had limited income. I could buy bag loads of stuff with very little outlay. I even worked at a thrift store one summer and came home with half my pay in clothes and shoes. My best friend and I would wear our outfits to death, then trade and wear each other's to death. I went to the prom in an elegant 50s embroidered satin ballgown with a full skirt and deep V-back, and a week later, to a classmate's debutante ball in my best friend's vintage black lace evening gown. Vintage was hot in those days, and I amassed a distinctive collection of outfits from the 40s to the 60s, including shoes, hats and accessories.

I took my cool clothes with me to college, where thrift shopping was less cool among the preppy rich kids I hung out with, but I still enjoyed expressing my creativity, style and kooky personality through my mostly-thrifted threads. For many years I didn't own a pair of shorts or sweats; I preferred my mini-skirts, pencil skirts and pleated plaid skirts, thank you very much.

Pre-prom, 1983 (I didn't have time to put on makeup!)

Once out of college, I found myself in the workforce. With a full time job came a sense of needing to fit in as well as a certain amount of disposable income, leading me to shop more frequently in regular retail stores. I don't even know how or when it happened, but things started to change. I still shopped in thrift stores, but those purchases became more and more about finding good brands and well-made pieces (the joy of finding a like-new high-end silk or linen blouse for just a couple of bucks!) that made me look like everyone else.

20+ years later, my thrift store wardrobe now makes up a tiny portion of my closet, and most of those items are no more interesting (and sometimes less interesting) than the ones I buy at Banana Republic or Calvin Klein (the outlets, of course. I still hate spending money on clothes.)

Watching Jessi's talk reminded me that there's nothing wrong with expressing myself through my clothing, even in a professional setting, even if the colors and patterns I choose are a little brighter or crazier than the average girl. But I don't know if I can ever get back the devil-may-care attitude I used to have about my clothes. After all, I'm 46 and I'm supposed to exhibit some decorum, right?

The red Hilo Hattie dress

Thanks to Jessi, I visited the thrift stores this past week with the express purpose of breaking out of my usual habit of safe shopping. I found a red Hilo Hattie Hawaiian dress to replace the one I've had for over a decade and that no longer fits (here I am in my new dress). I also found an apple green velvet jacket, a tangerine skirt, and a pink, orange and red multi-colored top that may or may not go with anything in my closet (or maybe with aforementioned skirt and jacket!). All good quality and, by the way, fun.

I also picked up a sensible pink-and-red-striped shirt for "business-y" meetings (never let 'em see you sweat) and a soft gray sweater that will go with anything, no matter how garish.

I'm on a new quest: To be who I was. Or at least a reasonable facsimile; after all, I don't need to look like I'm 22 years old, I just want to let myself be playful in ways I haven't allowed in many years.

How about you? *Are you who you were?*

Do you wish that you were still doing things you used to do? *What's stopping you?*

Starstruck

Barbara Wayman, me, Diana Long, Meredith Liepelt

Let me preface this by saying that I grew up in Santa Barbara. Because we're so close to Los Angeles, yet somewhat isolated, celebrities are a dime a dozen here. They own homes or come for the weekend. They shop at the farmers market, eat breakfast at hometown haunts and of course, attend the occasional gala event like the Santa Barbara International Film Festival.

We let them be. It's not cool in Santa Barbara to bombard movie stars for autographs or to ogle them from across the room. We don't get starstruck.

So WHAT THE HECK HAPPENED TO ME Tuesday night, when I attended my first ever big Hollywood event, the Costume Designers Guild Awards?

I didn't go into it expecting lots of movie and TV stars, although I knew Kristin Davis would be the emcee and Halle Berry would be accepting an award. I figured there would be lots of successful costume industry people, a nice cocktail reception, dinner and awards speeches. I was with a group of women invited by my cousin Barbara, and I looked forward to meeting and enjoying a glamorous evening with these fellow coaches and consultants from across the country.

I was a theater major in college, my emphasis on acting. But through a serendipitous series of events, ended up senior year a costume design major. I still find costume design fascinating and analyze every detail of movie and TV costumes. I felt so lucky to be part of an event honoring such creative people. But the costume designers' faces were not familiar to me like the performers' faces were.

From the moment Kristin Davis walked by in her gorgeous black-on-white polka dot gown, I knew I was not going to be cool. I knew I was going to gawk. I so wanted to be unfazed, but it was not to be. Barbara managed to find her way into the VIP press lounge as part of an entourage of colleagues and friends. When she came out, she had met Bill Paxton and spotted Bette Midler somewhere in the crowd.

And then it just got more and more surreal as the movie and TV personalities piled up. I spotted Kathy Griffin, one of my favorite comedians (and the subject of a few Speak Schmeak blog posts), sitting at the next table on the lower level, facing me. As I gawked and squealed, suddenly Barbara and Meredith appeared in my view, chatting with Kathy along with their friend Lash who, of course, knew Kathy. As I marveled at how the heck they got there so fast, Diana, sitting next to me, started to jump out of her seat to join them. I said, "Are you going?" and impulsively leaped up to join her. We nearly sprinted to the Kathy Griffin table.

Here's something about me people don't believe: I'm shy. I love standing up in front of an audience of 500 people to speak. But when it comes to introducing myself to someone I admire, I'm a total freak. I will hide in a dark corner rather than say hello to someone of whom I'm a fan. I could have sat at that table all night staring at Kathy Griffin, just a few feet away. Thank goodness for the impulsiveness of Diana, forcing me to take action.

I butted right to the front of the group, probably a little rudely, to say hello to Kathy, who was absolutely lovely and charming. She asked if I wanted to take a picture and uh, heck YEAH I wanted to take a picture. She very graciously posed with me as Lash snapped away (I hope I actually get a copy!). I thanked her for being so willing to be accosted by and photographed with strangers. Then the conversation continued, and Diana and I went back to our seats.

There was a charming and handsome young man at our table, who looked familiar. Turns out he was Matt Lauria, from The Chicago Code and Friday Night Lights, two shows I've never watched. He was what someone my age calls a "nice young man."

And the presenters kept coming. Robert Duvall, Melora Hardin, Lisa Edelstein, Jeanne Tripplehorn, Ginnifer Goodwin, Claire Danes, Isaiah Mustafa (yes -- the Old Spice Guy!), Ashton Kutcher, Demi Moore, Diane Lane, Billy Bob Thornton, Bill Maher, Samuel L. Jackson...

It was a fairly small room and the presenters weren't far from us. It was easier to see them on the monitors, however, so we mostly watched the big screens. Which is how we normally view celebrities, right? Then I would turn my head and that person was standing RIGHT THERE, making an award presentation. Surreal, I tell you.

And yes, I ogled. I gawked. I stared. I tweeted and Facebooked and took a ton of pictures. And enjoyed every minute.

I'm a thinker and planner, but the "doing" usually follows much later, which is why my theme word for 2011 is "ACT!" Unfortunately, "acting" doesn't always come easily, which is why I'm so grateful for Diana motivating me to go meet Kathy Griffin. In the grand scheme of things, it's maybe a minor event in my life. But why not take the opportunity when it presents itself?

I find I'm now second guessing myself, wishing I had taken MORE action. "Why didn't I tell Halle Berry and Billy Bob Thornton how much I enjoyed their presentations?" Why didn't I do this? Why didn't I do that? In fact, because I was so in the moment, and hadn't planned or thought out anything, I couldn't take action at all.

My lesson in this: There is indeed value in the planning and preparation that I like to do, if I want to be on my toes making things happen.

A little planning goes a long way, but so does a little action!

(Shout out to Barbara, Meredith, Diana, Ruth and Jill, my companions for the evening: a group of powerful, accomplished, brilliant and gorgeous women that I'm so glad to have met!)

Photos from the event are here.

Why do you work out?

When I was a teenager, I worked out because I wanted to win games and races. Without proper training, I had no idea what I was doing, and achieved little for my efforts.

When I was in my 20s, I worked out because I was skinny and wanted muscles. It was fun for a while, but my studies (and parties) were more appealing.

When I was in my 30s, I worked out because I wanted to match the women I studied as an advocate for gender equity in sports. And I had suddenly discovered my metabolism slowing down and myself 20 pounds heavier than I had ever been.

I became very fit and strong -- and very obsessed with exercise -- and found myself sick all the time.

In my 40s, I think I've finally found the right reasons to work out:

I work out to stay fit, but not to the detriment of my immune system.

I work out to support my vast energy stores (so lucky to be a high-energy girl).

I work out to maintain my mental health.

I work out to enjoy the natural beauty Santa Barbara offers every day.

I work out to get away from my desk, if only for a short time.

I work out because it feels damn good.

I try not to let fear or guilt motivate me. I try not to compete with other women's bodies. I try not to push myself beyond what's reasonable for my age, physical condition and interest. Sometimes I fail at these things. But I'm so much more physically and mentally healthy at this point in my life because I do what I enjoy and do it as often as possible.

Why do you work out?

The more things change...

...the more they stay the same. (See original quote below.)

I've always found this a fascinating aspect of human nature, and it was reinforced for me yesterday as I sat drinking coffee with five friends I had first met in second grade and, for the most part, had not seen in nearly 30 years. By the time I changed high schools in 1981, I was not seeing these girls regularly any more. My memories of them were mostly fixed in elementary school and junior high. And I lost touch, and that was that.

Then Facebook came along! And suddenly, people I had wondered about from time to time were in my life again, flesh and blood. And then, the coffee date.

First of all, everyone looked the same to me. No surprise. I think our brains imprint a face in our memories and it doesn't matter how old someone gets, the original face is always overlaid on the new face.

But what is fascinating is how much everyone's basic personality, speech patterns and physical characteristics have stayed the same. We may spend billions of dollars a year in this country on self-help books, therapy and fitness training; we may get married, have kids (or not), experience traumas and dramas and life-changing events; we may improve our bad habits, become more confident and embrace healthy or unhealthy behaviors of all kinds, but we do not ever really change.

I like to think that I'm very different from the girl I was when I met these women back in 1972, and even different from the 16-year-old I was when I left for another school. But as our conversation went on, in each woman I saw the same girl I knew back then. Same personality, same sense of humor, same facial expressions, same mannerisms, same everything.

I had this experience with another elementary school friend I met up with a couple of years ago. I hadn't seen her since fourth grade. Guess what: Same exact person I knew in fourth grade.

I'm not saying this is a good or bad thing. It just is. We can change our outward behaviors, but can we change who we are at our core, the traits ingrained in us by biology and genetics?

I guess I'm resigned to the fact that the shy, nerdy, loudmouthed 7-year-old is still with me. I'm no different than I ever was, except that, at this age, I have the self-awareness to know who I am.

Here's a cool article on the "nature vs. nurture" argument as seen through the Human Genome Project.

The original expression, in French, "Plus ça change, plus c'est la même chose" was said by Jean-Baptiste Alphonse Karr.

I wish I could tell you... (An open letter to negative people)

Dear friend (although I'm not sure that is the appropriate term for our relationship),

I wish I could tell you how much I dread talking to you, because we can't have a conversation where everything in your life isn't falling apart, one way or another. And you only ask me about my life in order to one-up me with your troubles.

I wish I could tell you how much you are sabotaging your personal and professional progress and success because people don't want to work with you or spend time with you.

I wish I could tell you how bad you make people feel with your backhanded "compliments" which are only meant to make yourself look better or smarter than others.

I wish I could tell you to smile now and then. You have a nice smile, but mostly walk around with an expression of disdain.

I wish I could tell you to ease up on the world. Life is what you make of it. We all have struggles and challenges, but we don't all go around constantly complaining and blaming as though we're the only ones who ever experienced pain. Read Sean Holton's blog to see how it's done.

I wish I could tell you that dwelling on the past only works if you are using it to learn from your mistakes. Otherwise, it's a waste of time. And no one wants to hear it.

I wish I could tell you these things, but I don't feel that you are enough of a friend to have an honest conversation with you. Our relationship is based entirely on you complaining and me trying to be supportive and helpful. It's exhausting, and I don't think friendships should feel like that.

I wish that, by reading this, you would recognize yourself. But you won't, because you have a distorted perception of how you are perceived by others, and you will feel sorry for "someone else" when you read this.

What I do get from being around you is an incredible sense of gratitude about my own life. With all my problems and challenges, I can appreciate the good things (hence, this blog) and actively seek to make my life the way I want it. So thank you for that.

This is really more for me than for you.

It's only hair...

There's a cashier at a store in my neighborhood who has the most adorable hairdo. Whenever I shop there, I can't stop looking at her... partly because I'm pretty sure it's a wig. But it's the kind of hair I wish I had: full, bouncy with just the right amount of curl, the perfect shade of brown with blond highlights, and darling bangs. A little retro; I can picture that hair looking sassy with a pair of go-go boots.

Today I go through her checkout line. She's always perky, friendly and conversational, so I decide to mention her hair. I tell her how much I love it; how it's exactly the kind of hair I wish I had, and how I love its bounce and curl.

She is flattered and surprised, and thanks me for the compliment. After a little more small talk about hair, she leans in and tells me quietly she's going through chemo and it's a wig. She doesn't normally tell people, but she's touched by the compliment. This is not her typical hairstyle, but she's enjoying it for her temporary look.

I was afraid she was going to tell me something like this and I wish for a moment that I weren't so nosy. I get all teary-eyed and try to avoid making eye contact by concentrating on my debit transaction. I say that, if I had the choice of wigs, I might go for purple or green, and she tells me that they do offer those colors and people do choose them!

So now that I know what I know, I tell her she has great taste in hair and we say goodbye.

What a cheerful, good-humored woman with a big smile and great attitude. And sadly, quite young to be going through this illness. I hope the chemo works and she recovers soon (I also not-so-secretly hope she keeps wearing the wig anyway). Her positive energy made my day.

Update, December 2011: I finally saw the cashier again this week, and she was wearing her natural hair. So, first of all, she's still with us. And second, she has apparently chosen not to keep wearing her wig. :-) I was very happy to see her.

An emergency thank you...

I have had two ambulance rides in my life: one where I was more fascinated by the quantity of saline being poured over my legs than I was scared or in shock, and one where I cried the whole time with blood pouring down my face.

I have been a patient in the emergency room for both minor mishaps (they laughed when they saw how little I had cut off my finger) and for major physical and psychological trauma (car accident, massive panic attack).

After the trauma and drama are over, I sometimes wish I could track down the first responders, the doctors and nurses who have been there for me through these distressing events, and thank them. But I think for many of us who have experienced these kinds of emergencies, we don't really want to relive them or remember them any more than necessary. And I'm pretty sure that the EMTs and ER staff who helped me have forgotten me by the next day.

Still, I'd like to give thanks this year for the police, firefighters, EMTs, paramedics, doctors, nurses, technicians, and everyone else who has scooped me up off the street, stitched me up like Frankenstein, shot me full of sedatives and did what they had to do to put me back together, physically and mentally.

I've always appreciated the dry humor, the calm demeanor, the matter-of-fact attitude that faces me in the ER. I might be freaking out (or just out of it), but the person who meets me never is. When my head was busted open in five places, I don't recall a single ER staff person looking at me in horror. I understand the training and conditioning these people go through. And I appreciate it.

I still remember cracking jokes with the doc who sewed up my lacerations; I distinctly recall telling him I'd "always wanted a needle in my eye."

I've been a visitor with with hubby as he's experienced extremely painful kidney stones, strange dizzy spells and heart palpitations, and also a co-patient (between the two of us, we used up most of the saline supply in the ambulance -- in a ride that took two and a half blocks). They always take us seriously, but they don't make us more scared. How do they DO that?

I take comfort in living near a major hospital, and having spent so much time in its ER, I feel safe and secure as I pass by on my regular walks in the neighborhood. I know what goes on inside. I know people are there for me if I need them.

So on this Thanksgiving, six days short of the 20th anniversary of a car accident that would change my life in so many ways, let me give a resounding

THANK YOU

to all the first responders, the ER personnel, and everyone else who helped put the pieces back together again. You rock.

Yay Life IRL

Here's the license plate that inspired this very blog! I think I must live near these people, because I frequently find myself driving behind their car or, in this case, parking next to them at Trader Joe's.

I'd love to meet the person behind this license plate!

A dino a day keeps monotony away

On my neighborhood walk, I'm constantly entertained and engaged. There's so much to see, smell and experience on a beautiful fall day in Santa Barbara. Today, for example, I encountered:

Butterflies and bees
Giant orb spiders
A single yellow leaf dropping from a branch
A sleeping Labrador
A barking Pit Bull
Shimmery snail trails
A car trunk full of groceries
Jack-o-lanterns
A woman with a camera on a tripod
Gardeners and construction workers
A double-sized, long-haired, chatty, purry gray kitty
A large story board or planning grid in a garage
Dinosaurs

Dinosaurs! Yep, this house never fails to grab my attention. In its desert-style garden, there are hidden treasures, if you take a moment to look.

There's a brawl about to happen between a stegosaurus and a little guy someone will have to identify for me; there's a brontosaurus guarding a boulder in front. And then, just when you think you're back in prehistoric times, you spot a tiny red car driving through the tableau (see it?). I might find more critters if I look more closely, which I will next time.

I can't help but think I would like the people who live in this house. Their humor and playfulness are two qualities I require in people I choose to hang out with. After all, who wants friends with no imagination or sense of fun?

Shave and a haircut -- free!

Well, I didn't get a shave OR a haircut, but I did get some haircutting advice from a lovely barber whose shop I walk by now and then in between picking up drycleaning and mail.

He was standing outside when I walked by and stopped me to tell me how much he likes my haircut. I told him my husband cuts my hair, and no, he's not trained, but he's been doing it for ten years now for fun.

He asked what tools Bub uses and I said he cuts with scissors and trims the back with clippers. And that we just bought a pair of thinning shears and we're having some fun with those. I told him the only problem is that I have a big cowlick that sticks up in back that's hard for Bub to manage.

So Frank, the barber, says, "Come in," and leads me to his chair. "Sit down," he says.

And for the next five or ten minutes, he proceeds to show me how to deal with the cowlick, how to cut the top and sides so they blend better, and how to trim the back with scissors so the hair hugs the shape of my head.

He combs it straight up and says, "See how this isn't straight? It should be straight," and proceeds to mock-trim with his scissors, demonstrating how Bub should cut straight across and then notch in "like so" to make it lie properly. Of course, he's totally destroying my 'do, but I don't stop him, because I'm so amazed and grateful that Frank would give away this information for free to some woman who happens to walk by his shop on occasion.

When the lesson ended, I thanked Frank for his advice and promised to come by after my next haircut to show him the improvements. I should probably bring him cookies or something for offering up this great advice completely unsolicited.

And if you're in Santa Barbara and need a haircut, stop by Danny's Custom Styling at 3337 State Street, in Loreto Plaza, (around the corner by the travel agency), and ask for Frank!