Wednesday, January 31, 2007

Get help

It’s only January and I’ve already learned a big lesson in 2007: Get help.

Consider this: for nearly every issue you’ve been dragging, for every pending thing picking away at you, there is a pro who can help you just get it over with.

Don't get me wrong. This has nothing to do with figuring it out, which I'm a fan of. But, if you’ve been staring at your yard thinking you’ll landscape it and you haven’t gotten around to it in more than a year, you probably won’t. Hire an accountant if you’re struggling with your taxes. Get a once a month cleaning service and spend your Saturday mornings reading in bed instead of scrubbing the shower walls.

Let me share with you what brought on this revelation.

Once upon a time I used to like clothes. I was never a clotheshorse, but I'd have fun assembling an outfit. For the past few years, though, let’s just say that the "I don't know what to wear" dilemma brought on intense anguish and made me (almost) late for work every day. Please note my goal was not to be a fashion plate. My goal was to not be naked.

All this time, Luca never uttered the words "honey, we really need to go". He'd just look at me, calmly notice that I'd changed twelve times, and observe clothes strewn all over our room (that, being the neat freak that I am, needed to go back on the hanger and into the closet before I could walk out the door.)

This culminated in Luca giving me, for my birthday, three sessions with a "fashion consultant". One session to interview me and review my closet. Another to go shopping for what was missing. A third to work on what to wear with what.

My first reaction was paralysis. I stared at the gift certificate. Is this what this has come down to? Isn't what you wear an intimate expression of who you are? (Which must mean I've been going through an identity crisis, but, I'll leave that for another entry.) Isn't it intensely uncool to be so clueless about something everyone else seems to handle just fine? (Ugh. Yet another entry.)

My second reaction was one of pure gratitude. I mean, this husband of mine brings new meaning to the words "thoughtful" and "observant" (and "hot").

My third reaction was of categorical rejection. I didn't want to call said fashion consultant or make the appointment. Luca would have none of that.

Fast forward: thanks to my absolutely adorable, incredibly competent new friend Rachel, now - maybe for the first time in my life - my clothes fit. I get up, get dressed and get out the door, or I would if Luca didn't take so darn long. (Kidding).

Most importantly, I don't waste vast amounts of energy starting every day by feeling frustrated, harried and inadequate.

So there. My secret is out.

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