Today, for the first time in over a year, I caught up with my friends Kara and Amber. The three of us went to high school together and usually reunite several times a year. However, this last year–for whatever reason–it’s been difficult to coordinate schedules. “We tried,” Amber said today. “We made plans.” But once I got stuck in a major traffic jam and couldn’t make it (we all live in different cities). Once Kara had a friend who passed away. Once the weather was bad. Shit happens. Alas, we finally saw each other today.

We ate pizza.

We talked about everything.

We ate pie.

It was fabulous.

After (our very long) lunch, I went shopping this evening, mostly because my birthday is next week and I hate wearing old, worn-out, frumpy clothes on my birthday. Anyway, I ended up with two pairs of pants, a t-shirt, and a pair of (ridiculously comfortable) shoes.

Even better, everything was on sale.

I imagine that discussing my wardrobe is riveting for you, dear reader, but I bring it up to say this. Three years ago when I was preparing to have my estate sale, I had all sorts of wild clothes. (Recently a boy asked me, “Do you want to be wild and make out?” and I replied, “Please, I’m OLD. I’m not wild.” This is how you know you’re almost forty. And that your therapy is paying off. You turn down twinks. But I digress.) By wild clothes I mean–clothes of every different color and pattern. But when I had my estate sale, all of that went away. Ever since, I’ve worn mostly black, white, and gray. A while back somebody referred to my wardrobe as–utilitarian.

That’s another word for sexy, right?

I’ve said before that my plain-Jane wardrobe of the last few years has been due to the fact that I’ve been in mourning. This is (in my opinion) funny, but accurate. What I mean is that when I closed my studio and had my estate sale, it was in an effort to start or birth a new life, a life as a writer. As I’ve said over and over again–in order to be born again, one must first die. (This sucks, I know.) So the life I’ve been mourning has been–my own.

Along this path, it’s been suggested by others that 1) I may have overdone it when I had my estate sale and 2) I could spruce up my ho-hum clothes. All I can say is that everything I’ve done and everything I’ve worn has felt right at the time. Two years ago it felt absolutely right to wear a black t-shirt every day. Appropriate. So I did.

What’s fascinating to me is that I’ve noticed a shift in what feels appropriate–authentic–to wear this last year. Slowly, I’ve been introducing color. Not because it’s been suggested to me or as a strategy to perk myself up, but because something inside of me has changed. (Inside first, outside second.) The two pairs of pants I bought today are green and pink, respectively. The t-shirt I bought is yellow. Y’all, it’s been almost three years since I’ve owned or worn a yellow shirt. I take this an indicator that whatever phase I’ve been in is coming to a close and a new one is beginning. I’m not saying my mourning phase is completely over and that I’m being born again, mind you. But I do think it’s possible I’m–what’s the word?–crowning.