The Jumpsuit Crisis
All I can think about is the Laura Ashley floral jumpsuit I saw on the buy, swap, sell page today. Two of my kids are yelling at each other, actually I'd say more screaming over who likes the colour blue more. I can see there are tears of anger brewing in my seven year old's eyes as he struggles to comprehend how on earth his nine year old brother could possibly even think he likes the colour blue more. My eleven and four year old are singing along to Harry Styles on the karaoke machine at the top of their lungs in a pitch that is making my eyes twitch. Next to my elbow the dog is jumping up at me to be fed, his paws are up on the kitchen bench searching for a rogue piece of his beloved cheese right where I am trying to cut up the vegetables for a dinner I know will probably end up half in the bin. But that's all background. I think it is all the beautiful colours that keep bringing me back to it - the rust, ochre and yellow hues that remind me of a big autumn tree in the light of a sunset; or maybe it's the pockets I could place my two fists into when I don't feel sure what to do with my hands - Of course the three quarter length material of the legs that would sit perfectly on me because of my short stature, also make it quite appealing. I hate full length pants, they make me feel suffocated. In those three quarter legs I would feel free. I think of myself dressed in those colours of calm and happiness and I know in my bones that if I own that jumpsuit, if I click purchase now, I will feel happier, my life will feel more complete.
It's funny because before this afternoon, I never even knew Laura Ashley jumpsuits existed. I never knew that there were multiple floral coloured designs and patterns of jumpsuit glory out there in the world. That now seems ridiculous - how could I never have known? But even though I am awakened to this jumpsuit glory, I can't buy the jumpsuit. I keep looking at the screenshot of the jumpsuit I took, visiting it, but I know I can't buy it. Last year I listened to a podcast series that talked about midlifer’s (us 40 somethings) filling emotional holes with vices instead of just sitting in their feelings and so this year I have given up all vices so that I can have a year of sitting in my feelings. I have been avoiding alcohol, sugar, social media and buying anything new because I am committing to being present. I am trying not to numb any feelings of anger, sadness, longing etc with any quick fix dopamine hits and because I am being mindful, essentially I am learning to "sit in the shit" as my guru podcaster has advocated....but now three months into my self-imposed challenge, I am kind of thinking that sitting in the shit while wearing the Laura Ashley jumpsuit would make the shit feel so much better. My brain tells me that the jumpsuit is second hand so technically maybe it is ok, after all I am still not contributing to the environmental disaster that stems from people's "new clothing" obsessive purchases. Maybe I could actually justify the purchase under the rationale that I am saving the earth from more landfill if I just buy it, maybe filling an emotional void is an act of environmental heroism when the alternative is thinking of the floral beauty filling the rugged earth discarded and unloved?
Later, after Harry Styles has been turned off and the microphones hidden, and the colour war has begrudgingly succumbed to a truce agreeing where it has been acknowledged that both brothers and indeed any other occupants of the world can all love the colour blue equally, I lay next to my four year old waiting for her to fall asleep and think about the jumpsuit. What does the jumpsuit mean to me, what does it symbolise? The podcaster would be proud of me sitting in the shit and trying to work out why I will feel forlorn if I don't let myself have that jumpsuit - it is just a jumpsuit! And I know that deep down I will feel disappointed in myself if I cave on my self-imposed challenge. Maybe I am going mad? I swore to myself that I would not have a midlife crisis, that I would not fall prey to the domino effect of women in their 40's whose lives are cracking open before my eyes, and yet, and yet...I have landed here...thinking about a jumpsuit more lovingly and lustfully than I am thinking about my husband, knowing that if I don't get that jumpsuit my inner child is going to pout and stomp her feet. But I'm a grownup - I can hardly get away with foot stomping anymore... Digging down I realise that to me the jumpsuit symbolises control, choice, something pretty and attainable in a life that right now is pretty messy and confined by the needs, wants, desires and emotions of my four young children, a demanding job and everything that mid-life encompasses. I can't head out the door and go for a long run whenever I want, I can't have date nights and weekends away with my husband when I want, heck most of the time I can't even finish a sentence or a thought right now because I have surround sound Harry Styles karaoke going on. The jumpsuit is a metaphor, a mirage for all the things that are just outside my grasp right now. In the dark, under the glowing neon stars stuck to the bedroom roof with bluetack, I conclude that the podcaster is right, after thinking it through and sitting in the shit, I know I will not be more of a complete person if I buy that jumpsuit. I am content with who I am. Next to me, my daughter is finally snoring lightly and I get up slowly so as not to wake her - there are lunches to be made for tomorrow now and a kitchen to clean.
As I work in the kitchen I feel proud that I came to this conclusion all by myself - I am a whole human - no crisis happening here! When I finally slump on the lounge, I decide to go onto the link to just look at the jumpsuit one more time - to say goodbye - absolutely, positively, not to buy it - the jumpsuit of glory is alas sold. And I go to bed feeling hardly any rage at all at the smugly evolved podcaster who shall remain nameless.
