Don't wear fear
Lately, I have been trying on anger for size. It is hot, the color of fire. It burns away some of the pain underneath, melting frozen rivers of grief.
I don’t know why, but I started thinking about the iconic movie, Harold and Maude. The story of an unlikely friendship between a young, depressive twenty-something obsessed with death, and a much older, playful, spirited woman captivated by life.
Quite the pairing.
Maude with her whimsical dresses and skirts and bright lipstick. Harold dressed to the hilt in black. Suddenly, I was listening to the delightful soundtrack by Cat Stevens, singing in the car on the way to the grocery store.
“Don't wear fear or nobody will know you're there…”
I began imagining what fear might look like as an outfit, or two. Layers of scratchy sweaters and oversized earmuffs to block out the noise? Would it be as heavy as a knight’s chainmail? As black as the midnight sky, to blend in?
What would it feel like to wear fear? To know there was an option to take it off and try on another outfit? To peel away the layers or lighten the load?
Alternatively, what does joy look like? Is it bright, breezy, mismatched, or patterned? What fabric is it made of? Is it shiny, simple, feathered or full of glitter? As a child, it was a “twirly dress” I wore with a full skirt that spread out when I spun in the living room, pretending to be Nancy Kerrigan.
When I was in the earliest stages of grief, in the weeks and months after my Dad passed, I longed for an external way to let everyone know I was mourning. A subtle request for gentleness and compassion. I thought of the days when people wore all black with envy, a ritual in which I would have eagerly participated.
Lately, I have been trying on anger for size. It is hot, the color of fire. It burns away some of the pain underneath, melting frozen rivers of grief. It is protective and by necessity, constricting. It is a warning flag, a signal not to get too close, a wide berth of slowly cooling lava not meant to be tread.
“Don't be shy, just let your feelings roll on by…”
It is temporary, this costume of fury.
There’s no cultural consensus for wearing our feelings. Your joy will look decidedly different than mine. Your pain, too. But helps me to visualize emotions this way, as outfits we can try on and change with as much frequency as we like. As momentary states of being.
Our feelings serve a purpose, just like our wardrobe. You wouldn’t wear a trenchcoat in the middle of a blazing August afternoon, just as it would be inappropriate to enter a battlefield without some layer of armor. Our sadness, love, and fear complement the weather of life.
What outfit are you wearing today?
What emotion are you trying on for size? What does it look and feel like? Do you have a favorite accessory? Is there a new style you’re eager to try for the very first time?
Leave a comment, I’d love a peek into your “closet!”
P.S. The lovely music of Cat Stevens is worth a listen <3