Dream adjacent 💭

My desire to work there was so bad it scooped out my stomach like a deseeded cantaloupe. And don't think I didn't try to get a job there. I stalked that wing of the mall. I lurked and touched every garment and accessory in that store. At sixteen, I'd only afforded one long graphic-printed t-shirt but I wore it every time because surely the manager would see me and say, "Oh my god, you should fill out an application pronto!" and then I'd say, "I totally did!" and he'd pull mine from a stack of applications a hand tall and say, "Cyndi is taking the weekend off, can you start Saturday?" I'd even theoretically spent my first three paychecks using my discount because of course I'd need to be dripping in the store's clothes top down, but it never happened. Contempo Casuals never even gave me an interview.

Sure, everyone wanted to work there but I knew deep down that it wasn't just stiff teenage competition to blame. I wasn't fully committed to the Contempo look. I mean, I was close. I'd swam out to the New Wave. I was mostly Molly Ringwald with paisley blazers and rhinestone encrusted pearl brooches, but right on the edge of exploding into full bloom, I'd edit myself by ditching the hat and floral tights because that would have said, "I freaking love fashion and who cares what you think, cowboy hat and Wrangler-wearing East Texas!" Or maybe the manager knew that I still had a purple Izod in the back of my closet or that I didn't change the radio station when Journey came on but, I'M STILL COOL PLEASE HIRE ME!

So I settled for dream adjacent, Brook's Fashions. Brook was like Contempo's older, more mature sister who went to a nice state school to pursue education instead of living out her wildness as a Soho artist, Danceteria-ing the nights away. They stationed the new salesgirls at the front of the store to greet and left "Can I put this in the dressing room for you?" to the more seasoned. And there I was, every Saturday, Sunday and one weeknight, faced off with Contempo Casual dilettante, Jazzy.

Jazzy had a zero-effort tousle of asymmetrical blonde curls with a rattail so thick it could be divided three ways: one loose, one crisscrossed ribbon wrapped, one cascading with careless black bows. She was always in a complexly patterned Contempo dress over black leggings or some type of ripped hosiery and as if that wasn't enough, the assault was completed with pointed, buckled and bruised Chelsea boots.

Jazzy was my dream and I was adjacent.

Allow me to further illustrate this pattern going forward: Liberal arts instead of art. Production assistant instead of photographer. Ad sales assistant instead of photojournalist. And more recently, a creative coach instead of creating.

Please don't read this incorrectly, I've found everything I've done stimulating and most of it I've been quite good at, but I've still stayed adjacent to the work I really want to be engaged in. I don't want to just wedge it into the peripheries anymore, I want to be all in.

So why am I writing this down? To scratch my itchy need to plan, yes and as proof of my commitment. To say that I thought I had my year all figured out, I even had a content schedule (the fact that saying that makes me feel vomit-y should have been my first clue) and that I've changed my mind. To say that if you are currently a client of mine, I'm going to love our work together and show up 100%, but I won't be actively soliciting new clients (for Change Your Story) nor will I be opening anymore group classes for foreseeable future. What I will be doing instead is doubling down on garment design, construction, marketing and sales, making art and writing, taking photos. I have some new skills I want to add to my repertoire, like crochet and quilting and Photoshop, because I have so many design ideas that I can't wait to indulge. You, dear readers, have supported me all along and I will be sharing it all here and on Instagram. I am purely aglow and scared shitless.

Is it a privilege not to let materialism taint the delicious freedom to create what I want? Yes, but it doesn't come without loads of risk. What if I fail? What if I make no income, fail my family? Or disappoint them, at the least? But...what if I have to spend the end of my life unraveling tales to my children, grandchildren of a life spent living adjacent to your dreams? I would say, it was still a good life but it could have been wild.

xoxo

PS. If you've read all the way to the end, thank you! And one more thing, The Unruffled Podcast is still on hiatus but is coming back mid-March! Breaks are so precious for reasons too innumerable to list so I'll make it short: 1. They allow for breakthroughs.