Why do I have to choose?

One of my favorite stories about my grandma is the one my mom tells about bringing a beau home one sunny summer afternoon, only to be greeted by her mom coming in from a romp through the fields with the family pack of Irish Setters – soaking wet.  Seems the dogs had jumped in the pond, and it seemed like a good idea at the time, so so did she.  My mom thought it was funny, the beau thought it was horrifying, and Mom broke up with the boy shortly thereafter, partially due to his lack of a sense of humor.  (This would be late ’50s, in Iowa).

Grandma died when I was 3, but Mom never stops telling me how much we have in common.

So, although I’m dutifully working on the finer points of grooming for my marketing, I’d forgotten a little bit of what makes me who I am, and that’s sheer joy in living.  I can’t *do* plastic and perfect.  I don’t think I could carry it off for five minutes without squirming.   I might be able to tell you the perfect shade of blazer to nail that interview… but don’t ask me to be a stereotype.

Sort of silly, right?  My thing is helping other women draw out their personalities and display them appropriately, and I was forgetting my own personality.

Yeah.  I can channel Edna Mode… and you should never expect to take me on a walk near a water feature and come back dry.  I have the brain of an analyst and an artist’s soul.  But what do people respond to?  They respond to that joy, that fun, that love.  And I *love* color.  I love making women beautiful, drawing them out and … why the heck should I NOT dance with glee and clap my hands?   Who doesn’t need someone in their lives with that much fun?

I need to remember that this isn’t an office job.  Fun is catching, fake is off-putting.



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