I do not believe that anyone outside of our immediate family has ever seen Mamma with her hair down. Every morning, in the time that it took me to brush my teeth, she had whipped her hair into a perfect bun, set it in place with a small army of bobby pins, and dealt with every hair that even dared think about going astray. This amazing feat took place day after day after day. My mom has never left the house with her hair down. She has never walked out the door looking anything less than excessively appropriate. Never under-dressed, never a fashion icon, always just right. Always.
She takes umbrage at my unkempt flip flop no makeup lifestyle. But in her ultimate act of appropriateness, she only comments when absolutely necessary.
I’m not sure where I’m going with this. But I woke up thinking about this as I struggled with what to pack for a weekend conference. It is yet another reminder that I am burdened by the abundance of choice. It occurs to me that my mom’s closet is only 3 feet wide, and a good part of it is a suitcase full of personal documents and keepsakes from our childhood and her past. A sliver of what I own would not fit in that closet. And so when I think of what to wear on any given day, the myriad choices overwhelm me. After that, I’ll figure out how to wear my hair.