Mom

One of the things I’ve been learning over the last few years is how a shift in perspective can make all the difference.

It doesn’t take much to see something thought of as negative, as positive; something limiting to something possible. And it’s so simple. I love both the following quotes, but the first one exemplifies what I mean.

It’s not that big a jump to change one’s mindset from, “This will never work,” to “this may really be possible.” Or if someone asks you if you know how to do something to answer, “I haven’t done that yet.” instead of “I can’t do that.”

It really is a matter of switching from a limiting belief to a belief in the possible. If you say it, you will likely believe it. Go from, “I’m sick” to “I’m not 100% right now.” “I’m not comfortable in large groups of people” to “I always find at least one person to talk to.” Minor shifts. I found it was a great way to get past any number of limiting beliefs about myself, and ultimately, eliminating them.

So going back to perspective …

This is a photo of my Mom in her younger days. In having to go through just about every aspect of my life lately – getting rid of some stuff, relocating other stuff – I’ve been finding all kinds of things, such as this old photo, in unlikely places. It got me thinking about my Mom. She was a woman who didn’t like too many things around, and she liked them to stay in very specific places. It then occurred to me, considering a shift in perspective, maybe my Mom was just a minimalist ahead of her time.

I wouldn’t say my Mom was a fashionista. She wouldn’t have said it either, even if that word had existed back then. She was a conservative dresser in the time I knew her, that is, growing up my whole life. When I was a child, she wore simple clothes for the most part – straight skirts, (now known as pencil skirts), quasi-fitted short sleeve sweaters or printed or solid blouses, shorts in the summer. I remember her in wedgies in the warmer weather and medium high heels the rest of the time. Always on the simple side. In her daily dress, my Mom was not an adventurous soul.

And then … she had her evening/party clothes. An entirely different woman appeared. My Mom had the most fabulous skirts, tops and dresses for when she went out, and they were almost exclusively black. She wore black taffeta flared skirts, black silk tops and she had a gorgeous pair of black (real) velvet pumps. She positively glowed. To this day I can vividly remember one of her shirts … it was black crepe with cap sleeves, solid in the back, and in the front, there were chevron stripes of sequins, about 1/2″ apart, in alternating pale colors – gold, silver, aqua, pale rose and green. Even as a child, I wanted that shirt.

I believe those fabulous evening clothes – and possibly how happy and confident my Mom seemed in them – inspired my own love of black clothing. I’m typing this blog in a favorite combination – black jeans and a black sweatshirt over a black long-sleeved polo-type shirt. Garnet earrings are the only color at the moment, but then … I’m home. I love wearing black and honestly, I could wear it all the time, but it somehow seems a good idea to vary my wardrobe colors. Still, it’s a lifelong attraction.

Pan back in time when I was 6 or 7 years old. In school we were given these horizontal booklets each year; we filled them out with photos of ourselves, “My Best Friend”, “My Pet” and some of our favorite things. I may still have that book; my Mom saved a lot of our school stuff. On one of the pages, they asked you to fill in your favorite color. Undoubtedly inspired by my Mom’s fabulous evening clothes, I happily wrote “black.”

And that’s when they called home.