Shooting Star
Today I am reminded of a woman I once met. We crossed paths at a department store in San Francisco twelve or so years ago and her flamboyant appearance and lively presence remain bold relics in my memory.
Even now, I close my eyes and see her perfectly.
She is middle aged and wearing a dazzling jet black wig that glistens under the florescent overhead lighting of the department store. The wig is very black, ink black, and smartly styled in an 80s inspired fringe mullet, not unlike Joan Jett. The overhead lighting and the texture of blackness gives it a special kind of iridescence, similar to the way a crows wings shine colorfully beneath the afternoon sun, or the way my dogs black coat gets a glimmer of that same beautiful rainbow like blackness when the light hits it just right.
The details I choose to remember about the past, however subconscious that process is, always fascinates me. I cannot tell you what the weather was like on this particular day, or what time of year it was, or what I was wearing, or what I was feeling, or even why I was at Macy’s in the first place; but I can remember this woman’s wig exactly as it was. I could paint you a picture of the funky fringe and striking blackness. It is as though the richness and the depth of the entire memory somehow rests on the strength of an invisible little string my mind has created and tied to the end of this one detail- her hair. I suppose the detail grants me access to seeing the past in technicolor. Perhaps the tiny details we notice in the present become the talismans to the memories we create for ourselves, the trail of cookie crumbs we can follow to a more intricate recollection of our past self.
As it happens, her wig matches her personality, rough edged and colorful at times.
I remember her eyes too, they are dark brown and mean business, and they look deep and directly at whatever holds her attention. Nestled within her mouth are striking white teeth, a mouth chock full of them. Her front two teeth part away from one another and slightly buck forward from the rest of her face so that when she speaks her teeth are always on display, as if her own mouth finds perpetual amusement in the words that spill from her mind and soul. Although she does not seem to display a ‘beauty queen’ type of appeal, her uniqueness is mesmerizing and, to me, extremely beautiful. She exudes that secret kind of beauty you feel with your soul far before you ever see it with your eyes. And I think we all can attest that this soul touching kind of beauty is by far the highest form.
Even from a distance her astuteness and grit are palpable. She is a stranger to me, yet as I saw her that day her character crawled through the space between us and grabbed my attention knowingly. Good character can make you not only remember a stranger but think of them with fondness an respect over a decade later. She may have been wearing unremarkable faded black duds, but anyone could see she was cloaked in grace, grace that reaches out with toughness.
After all these years I still remember her and think of her often.
There was another woman present in my memory from this day. But the only thing I can remember about her is that she had a very poor attitude; her self righteousness and entitlement were repellent. And because people with unreasonable grievances usually feel compelled to voice them incessantly, this woman was of course speaking rudely just as I happen to pass by. She was blaming her dissatisfaction on another woman and complaining about something trivial. A few sentences in to her rant of rudeness, the other woman - the one with the lovely fringe wig- interrupted her. And with impeccable nonchalance and instant dismissal said,
“ I don’t need this stink on my day. No thank you! I’m fix’n to have a good day! Mmmkay” .
Time skipped a beat. Then she cocked her weight to one side and placed her hand perfectly on the now protruding notch of her hip. Eyes wide, silently reiterating what the wind of her spirit and the amusement of her toothy mouth had just produced.
Then she turned on her heels and walked away. The echo of her voice lightly trailing off behind her footsteps,
“I do not need that stink on me. Uh-uh. I’m having a good day. Okay? I’m having a gooooood day. Mmmmhm” .
As a gobsmacked voyeur, I watched, stunned, as she floated away across the cold tile floor of that department store. The invisible, colorful ribbons of her confidence and self respect streaming openly and widely around her. She was having a good day, I believe that. And I am certain that wherever she was heading off to now, she was going to continue on with her good day. Not one single strand of someone else’s rudeness or criticism was going to knot into her own sense of identity nor weigh her down.
I come back to this memory again and again, especially when I am having a tough day or just need a little confidence boost, because it reminds me that only I am responsible for my behavior and only I am responsible for how I internalize and identity with the behavior and attitude and opinions of others.
We are all entitled to our own opinions. But none of us are entitled to be rude and critical towards others.
The reason I regularly come back to this memory for inspiration and courage is because the rudeness that one person brought to the table was neither absorbed nor reciprocated by the intended recipient. One persons poor attitude and negativity was simply left behind. My memory of that lovely jet black, fringe wig and the spirited woman who wore it so well continually remind me that just because someone else has a bad attitude or a complaint or a criticism doesn’t mean that I need to identify with it, and it certainly does not mean that their smelly attitude needs to interfere with my own ability to have a good day.
Have a good day.
And don’t let anyone put their stink of your day. :)