Some Friday Fluff

Sometimes I wonder if I have lost touch entirely with my own intuition.

A circuitous and detailed account as to how I arrived at that conclusion: earlier this week, I decided I was in "desperate need" of a new dress, so I went to try on a few at a store I like. The source of this sporadic inclination towards consumer consumption was hardly a mystery: I had just had a rather stressful meeting at work and needed to assuage said stress with either vast amounts of chocolate or a minor shopping spree. It just happened that shopping was my band-aid du jour.

I realize I am a walking cliche, but so be it.

Once in the store, I was given inordinate amounts of attention from the salesgirl, who, incidentally, was lovely. Her attention was unexpected, however. Normally, salespeople are impervious to my presence, so it was a bit of an anomaly in the life and times of Maggie White. By way of background: I have deduced that I am both an innocuous and inconsequential presence in retail venues, and this combination virtually assures I will be ignored. It seems I am trustworthy-looking enough to be left alone while rifling through the racks or in the dressing room, and I am simultaneously non-affluent looking enough that the hopes for any sizeable commission being made from my purchases is essentially non-existent. I have concocted this "shopper profile" not so much because I understand the inner workings of retail managers and clerks, but rather because it is an exactly accurate assessment of me as a shopper.

So this unexpected attention caught me by surprise. Of course, I suppose the fact that it was a weekday afternoon during a repressed economic period would make any potential retail customer a rare and appealing sight. Sort of like stumbling upon a lemonade stand in a desert.

Maybe not quite that dramatic.

In any case, there were two young women working in the store. One quickly emerged as my personal helper through some system of assignment to which I was not privvy. She was a perfect salesperson; brought me things to try on, found me new sizes/styles, gave words of encouragement and constructive advice.

Eventually, I narrowed my options down to three selections. I decided that it would be all right to purchase two of the three given both the rare wonder of experiencing this extremely condusive shopping expedition and the fact that I can rationalize almost anything when I want to. So one dress was a no-brainer. Of the other two, the salesgirl and her colleague (another gracious and lovely girl) were decidedly on "team tan" while I was (secretly) on "team blue." I think there was some confusion as to my delay in making the decision since we had all been in this whole situation together, and given the time and energy we had all contributed to this worthy cause it seemed as though we ought to all be on the same page.

The whole scene was sort of like when you go camping with someone. You wind up being closer due to the adversities you overcome when you can agree on the same eventual outcome--with camping: survival, with my shopping trip: which dress to buy. I was having a struggle with staying true to what I really wanted because of not wanting to disappoint my proverbial camping cohorts. And, yes, I do think anytime anyone goes camping, adversities will be faced. Camping=not my favorite thing.

But the truth is that I KNEW the blue dress was more"me." For one thing, the tan job was not doing anything for my skin tone whatsoever. For another thing, it was fairly trendy. I was not going for trendy. But the girls were so excited about the dress, it felt like to select it would solidify the fact that we had all been through the trenches together and emerged victorious.

Frankly, I should have known something was up when one of the girls told me the color was perfect for me, it was just that the lighting was bad in the store. I am just not sure buying something that accentuates my anemic coloring is a good idea. And to suggest that I am not that pale is really a decidedly unfitting assessment of me. It is on par with: "You have amazing rhythm." i.e. a comment I never hear.

Now, I realize that they may have been the "experts" and that their advice was not only gladly accepted, but solicited to some degree through the whole process. At the end, though, it was me who would be wearing the dress, and it was my own intuition to which I needed to listen.

You might be thinking: why all this talk about a dress? Overthink much? Well, yes, of course I do. Overanalyzation is my specialty the way some people make a killer lasagna. But the point is that I think every day, we become swept up in the opinions and perceptions of others. The human propensity to forge connections with others can mean that we at time sacrifice our own sense of self. We forget to listen to what we inherently know. And, instinctually, we always know the "right" answer for ourselves--whether the decision is as innocent as buying a dress, or as loaded as staying in a job or a relationship when something feels unsettlingly "off." We do know, yet listening to ourselves when the voices of others can be so distracting, tempting, and, well, loud, can be very difficult. In fact, drowning out the voices of all the "other" can be virtually impossible at times. And never more so than when we are scared that what our own voice is saying might not be what we really want to hear.

So...I bought the tan dress. The girls were delighted, and we practically hugged as I left the store.

I then returned it the next day for the blue dress. This time I was delighted, and now that I am looking at the whole situation with hindsight: whose happiness am I watching out for, anyway?

It being Friday, I thought a life lesson emerging out of the seemingly frivolous was fitting...

Accepting the Inexplicable

Something that can be hard for me to grasp is that not every situation in life is easily explained. I love to analyze, over-analyze, and essentially shred things to mental pieces trying "to get to the bottom of things." Often, I am able to reach a personally satisfying conclusion. But not always.

For example: I was driving on an on-ramp onto the highway the other day and I saw a loafer on the side of the road. As in a penny loafer. As in a lone shoe.

So I ask the question that is likely at the forefront of everyone's mind: "What is up with random shoes on highways?"

Because, is it me, or are they not ubiquitous?

At least, I feel like I have almost daily sightings of a flip flop here, a sneaker there--all partner-less and in the unlikely locale of lying in the middle of very busy roadways rather than perched on the shoebox containing the inevitable partner in, say, DSW. Since there is not a lot of foot traffic on highways, I deduce that these shoes have not flung off the feet of errant pedestrians. Therefore, I have to imagine that these shoes are escapees from moving automobiles. So then I wonder: "How, exactly, does that happen?"

I mean, do you often see shoes flying out of the windows of the cars ahead of you as you cruise along kareoke-ing to Air Supply? Because I never do.

Something is not adding up.

It is sort of like the socks getting lost in the dryer. But different too. Because the thing is that I can understand HOW a sock goes missing: they are small, they are subject to a lot of tumbling around in the very static environment that is the dryer. The overall likelihood of a single tennis sock sticking to a tee shirt or inside a pillow case is fairly high, statistically speaking (important to note: I am not a statistician). By the way, if your socks do go missing, inside the pillow cases is where I often discover my little runaways. Consider that your freebie golden nugget of the day.

But back to the shoes: Is there some sort of popular road game that involves chucking a shoe belonging to a car-trip companion out onto the highway as some sort of punishment? Like if they lose a round of the license plate game or decide to play a Phish CD on repeat? Have I missed this "road trip rule" somewhere along the line? I am inclined to think so because as a frequent road-tripper, I am otherwise having trouble imagining what the course of events actually is for lone shoes to go sailing out of car windows with some regularity.

But then I think that maybe the shoe sightings are like life in general--incongruous, inexplicable, and just sort of random. Because the truth is that not every situation has an explanation...and many explanations that do exist may not be easily categorizable as acceptable or normal or reasonable.

And if you read my blog, or you have ever engaged in a discussion of any length with me (thank you--on either or both accounts) then you are aware that I am a big believer in every life event having a plausible explanation, even if it is not superficially or initially recognizable. I am someone who puts a lot of stock in life, at the end of the day, "making sense." Generally, I think this way of thinking has served me well.

Sometimes, however, I think it is incredibly valuable to be reminded that not everything does make sense, that not everything has a reason, and that life is full of random situations that might boggle me to till the day I die. Why my dog eats horse manure is one. Where Lady Gaga shops is another. Lone shoes on the highway is now an addition to the list.

And, lately, I have been going through some experiences with people in my life where their behavior has surprised me. And the fact that it has surprised me, surprises me. (Sorry, did I lose you?) But then I revert to my innate way of thinking that people must do things for reasons, and so I convince myself that if I exercise enough compassion, or if I spend enough time trying to figure the situation out, the reasons will emerge. I can then let out a sigh of relief, knowing that it all "makes sense."

My thoughts on life have been recently challenged through some of my personal relationships though, and I am starting to accept that people may surprise me forever. That there will be times when an explantion will not emerge, no matter how much time or effort I devote to "getting to the bottom of things." I am not living in another's head or body, and though I may fancy myself a faux therapist, but I am really only just me; I only have my perspective, my role to play, and my life to live. So it might be worthwhile to take some of those inexplicable situations and simply shelve them as that: inexplicable. And carry on, devoting the analytical energy I seem to have in abundance to more "solveable problems."

So there you have it: there are random shoes on highways, and I have no idea why. End of story.