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Keeping My Resistance Low

Screen Shot 2014 04 23 at 9.31.00 AMOne of the things I realized a few years back is how resistant I can be to change. Blessedly, now I frequently notice it as it’s happening. Awareness has helped me make a significant shift.

So now, more encounters go something like this recent one I had with a saleswoman at the Macy’s cosmetics counter.

Me (handing her a lipstick from my handbag): Do you still carry this color? Mine is down to a nub.

Saleswoman: I believe we do. Let me check.

She brings it to me and I light up.

Me: I also need another shade for spring, maybe in a pink tone?

Saleswoman: Here, try this.

She is handing me what looks like neon pink. My brow furrows. I can literally feel it. I’m thinking that I should mention that surely she can see I’m not 14, that I’m in fact 52, and cannot possibly contemplate this color. I will look like I’m trying to be on the cover of Teen Vogue. I am on the verge of saying a polite no. But I stop myself. Now I’m thinking what a rigid pain in the butt I am. My self-talk turns to chiding. Geez, try the perky shade already.

Averting whiplash from that complete 180, I smile and nod and let the saleswoman apply it to my lips. I’m still positive I’m going to hate it, but who cares? It wipes off with a tissue. Very temporary.

She hands me a mirror. I adjust my eyes. I get out my reading glasses. This color looks good on me. It pops, but doesn’t overwhelm. It’s soft, not at all what it appears in the tube. Sold. I don’t even try on 10 more shades to make sure. I stand tall in the decision and walk out happily with my purchases.

I had a similar experience a few weeks back when I bought a pair of pants. Hmmmm, I thought as I plucked them off the rack, MC Hammer pants. Who in the world can wear these? But they look comfortable. Too good to be true they’d also be flattering, or even chic.

As I twirl in front of the dressing room mirror, I’m pleasantly surprised. Almost giddy. I ask the young woman minding the fitting room how to best ‘style’ these pants. She gives me several options. The vision is coming together in my mind. The decision is made. I buy the pants in two colors and never look back.

Tales of shopping? Maybe at surface level. But I live riveted to the idea of seeing the larger lessons/messages in most things. I recall the two major career choices I’ve made, journalism and life coaching, were both suggested to me by outsiders who’d observed my skills in some way. I shrugged off both of them at first. That seems funny now.

These come in waves, I think, these moments where one blip of openness or willingness to change ripples into another until the world seems like this great playground of possibilities. A ride on a swing. A twirl on a merry-go-round. A squeal down a slide.

Little shifts merge and meld and create big shifts. Lipstick is the whimsical vehicle that sets me spinning into a happy dance.

Resistance low. A very good thing.

Tags: A Riveted Life, Live Riveted