One of the impetuses to start blogging again and kick my own butt into action was the realization that I had perhaps become too comfortable on many levels. I was perfectly content to stay in comfortable clothing (preferably fleece or flannel), and spend days on end with my nose stuck in a tablet. Not only was I in a social comfortability rut, but I was also in a physical comfortability rut.
Now in my mind this physical comfort was justified as having reached a point in life where I did not have to impress anyone. There was nobody, after all, to either compliment or condemn how I chose to window dress myself or my life. I could be my authentic self, warts and all, and be darn comfortable doing it. While fleece and flannel have their place in life, and justifiably so, today I realized that if my life were a movie, it would probably be The Muppet Movie, and I would be played by Beauregard instead of Miss Piggy.
And as if the happiness angels were looking down on me to offer food for thought, today’s entry in Simple Abundance – A Daybook of Comfort and Joy contains this little gem:
“It does take more effort to set an inviting table, but it enhances our enjoyment of eating. We all feel better when we take those few extra minutes to fix our hair and put on makeup, but what’s more, we act different. Every actress knows the magic power of props and costumes to create special moods both onstage and off.
None of us can be expected to perform every minute of our lives. But a lot of us might tap into the power, excitement, and glory of Real Life more frequently if we cast ourselves as the leading ladies in our own lives.”
The question becomes then, does physical window dressing need to play a role in my happiness experiment, and if so, what does that look like in terms of a trial resolution? Do I wear pearls to cook dinner ala Julia Child? Or does that mean I not venture outside the front door in pants that don’t require a zipper? How do I balance the excesses implied in window dressing, when minimalism also supposedly brings joy? Maybe I wear pearls with the sweatpants?
Is it just me being my authentic self that I just don’t care about dressing up for life, or is it a defense mechanism that just makes me more socially insular and keeps me in my physically comfortable rut? Is it just another safe way of not putting myself out there? When is a rut a rut?
It turns out that this is a tough one to sort out.
Accio Life! 