Some Outfits Go Unplanned

I’m writing this blog post from my phone on the plane where my outfit is mostly bloodshot eyes and a twice worn shirt but also like... hoop earrings. I have  recently become acutely aware that no matter how much you plan, life takes you by surprise. People always tell you that, but when things start to happen around you that are truly out of your control you have to decide how you’re going to grapple with it.
I’ve been trying to grasp onto anything I can control. Relationships, what people see of me on social media, my image, my socks, etc
Etc
This blog post my not necessarily be all about clothes, forewarning.
When I was a kid my favorite book in the world was The Mixed Up Files of Mrs. Basil E. Frankweiler. In case you don’t know, the book is about two siblings, who so bored of their suburban life, go into the city to live in The Metropolitan Museum of Art. Every night they choose a different one of the architecture rooms to sleep in: the Egyptian room, the Arab room and so on. Growing up in Texas I never had a Met to run away too. But yesterday I did.
Yesterday my family had some hard news, and I felt like I was 9 years old again, completely out of control. I had no idea what to do with my body.  Nikki and I went to the Met where she kindly let me sit and pretend like for Just a little bit I was running away. The first time I went to The Met I was with my mom. I had just gotten into NYU and I was feeling like nothing could stop me. Here was this place I had been waiting to explore my entire life.
When I imagine my own purgatory (oh the sweet thoughts anxiety grants one) I often imagine myself looking into diorama exhibits of what my life played out to be. It’s probably because I’ve spent so much time fantasizing about these grand museums like the Met and the New York Natural History museum. In Pittsburgh when I need to think you can often find me in the Hall of North American mammals in the warm dark next to my favorite motionless black bear.
Yesterday felt a little like I was in purgatory. Here was my previous life before me and this other new strange life that lay ahead. And what could I do? Look at some Buddhist statues I suppose.
This year has shown me that the choices you make to hurdle on no matter what are the most important. Running away to the Met may work for a 9 year old, but as I told Nikki yesterday, “these are grown up problems.” Welcome to your life, Jamie. You can run or you can wake up in the morning and wear your planned fucking outfits and match your socks. You choose.
I’m trying to choose to maintain some semblance of control, but forewarning I may lose it a bit. And if my clothes don’t match or my outfits go unplanned know that I’m trying.