I often refer to stories of my past as things that happened in a “past life”. I don’t think its uncommon, but still very strange to look back on certain times and see things from what feels like an outside perspective- like they really weren’t your own experiences. What I’ve also noticed is that the more I look back at things and process those moments, in my search for self-awareness, the more I’m able to reflect on previous situations that were upsetting, or embarrassing, and find a lesson in there. I guess that’s kinda the point of sef-awareness though, right?
Well, this past week I flashed on one of those moments that I had practically forgotten about. In a past life that is almost a blur (as most of my previous marriage memories are to me now).
A song came on the radio that I have never heard before. But somehow that song put me right back to a time at a pizza shop in Miami. We were there for the Ultra music festival because we had booked the trio of DJs we were managing at the time.
Like woah..
I had pretty much forgotten that I had been to Miami at all, let alone to go to a huge electronic music festival as a DJ manager/promoter. (I actually looked up the flyer to make sure I wasn’t imagining some of the groups we saw or discussion panels we went to.)
But I digress- back to that time at the pizza shop…
Well actually, lets go back further than that so I can paint the full picture.
My (then) husband and I managed a trio of DJs that toured around AZ/the states and did a little stint in Europe too. They were pretty underground and you probably had never heard of them. (I don’t say that to sound hipster, I’m just being honest.) My husband also owned a record store and was promoting in clubs in the Phoenix/Scottsdale area while we were managing these DJs. But really, it’s not about them, this is about me.
I love music. I love to dance. I love to go to clubs and dance. But, if you know me, you also know that I don’t really LOOK like the kind of girl who loves those things. I looked very much out of place in the Scottsdale petite/blonde/perfectly coiffed/tan/plastic-ness with my tall/pale/tattooed/purple hair/thickness. There was a part of me that wore my differences as a badge of honor and didn’t mind standing out in what felt like a cookie cutter world.. But, in hindsight, I was struggling. We were constantly surrounded by society’s version of “perfect” and I was insecure. Not only was I insecure in my surroundings, I was insecure in my marriage, insecure in my role with the business, and insecure with my own job/path.
Yet there we were, heading into a huge electronic music event, with a trio of DJs, and I had no idea what to expect.
I won’t get into all of the details of the entire weekend, but there were a few things that happened that were pretty crazy and I pretty much had put them all out of my memory. But, what I do want to discuss starts with the fact that I reallllly didn’t pack the right stuff… You know how you have certain outfits that will totally dress up with the right pair of shoes, or you could wear that same outfit to the beach with sandals?? Well, I only brought the sandals and sneakers. Heaven knows I had other shoes, LOTS of shoes. But, I came unprepared when presented with the sudden invitation to a mansion party where we were going to schmooze with some big-wig producers on behalf of our DJs. I could not go to this party, knowing who was going to be there, in a jean skirt, tank top and dirty sneaks! So I went out looking for new shoes… with only about an hour to shop.
I’m sure you can imagine the amount of focus and fear of a woman who wears size 9.5, looking for the perfect black heel, in Miami, in one hour. I found a pair that were not ideal, but would do for now. (They were black patent leather, peep toe, 4in tall (almost stiletto) heels.) They were awkward and somewhat uncomfortable, but they fit. And with some extra makeup and layered jewelry, I was able to pull off a sort of glam punk rock look, which fit me pretty well.
The night was eventful to say the least. There were 6 of us as passengers in one cab, driven by a man, who played the guitar and sang to us the whole way, while steering with his knees. Full turns and all.. Not exactly safe or legal, but definitely memorable. Then, when we arrived, the “mansion” looked more like a regular house from the front, but it had cars pulling up and people spilling out, dressed to the nines, like it was the hottest New Years party of the century. My anxiety skyrocketed again, because really, who are these people?? Who goes to parties in mansions? I had never! But everyone was acting all normal about it, like this is just how life is, wandering the halls finding another open bar in yet another room with statues guarding all the hallways. It was straight out of a movie. And I felt sorely out of place.
We proceeded to find our contacts (the prospective producers) outside, at a tented bar area, which sounded like a better, more relaxed, less crowded option… until I started to walk through the yard… My new 4in heels sunk with each step. The more we stood there talking with these producers, the more uncomfortable I got, while my heals were sinking deeper by the minute. It’s a very strange and unsettling feeling to have your heels disappearing into the earth.
One girl noticed my dilemma and told me I should just take them off. Which I tried, and I put them on the ground by a bench close by… until some drunk girl tripped on them and cursed whoever left their “stripper shoes” out… so I went and picked them up and held onto them instead… But, I kept dropping them because they’re awkward (hello!) and patent leather is slippery, obvs, and even makes this weird squeeking sound when rubbed together! (you know that sound…) It was a losing battle all around.
So, I just drank more to make it feel less awkward. *That didn’t really help*
We eventually left the party and decided to get something to eat. And the best option was an all night pizza joint near our hotel. (btw- who has a mansion party with all this alcohol and no food?? People in Miami, apparently)
I had thought (hoped?) I had been doing a pretty good job hiding my shoe issues to “the guys” and none of them seemed the wiser about it. Or at least they didn’t let on. We were hanging out, eating slices, laughing about what all had just gone down. Then it was time wrap it up and go back to the hotel to get some sleep for the next big day. As many women do, I decided I should go to the bathroom quick before we left.
I got up, took 3 steps and those ridiculous heels that had failed me all night, failed me once again.
I hit something wet, my ankle twisted and my foot slipped out from underneath me, landing me HARD on my side, on the floor, right in front of the register/counter.
There was a collective gasp in the restaurant, a few laughs, and my husband ran to help me up. I dusted myself off, tried to laugh off the embarrassment, and went on my way. But then, heading out the door to leave, it happened again… This time one of the guys caught me. Apparently they thought I was drunk. Which is also not really something you want people you work with thinking….
There were some other good moments and memories from that trip. But they are mostly clouded by some other arguments and those terrible shoes. I threw those stupid things away there in Miami and did NOT bring them back home. However, I seem to recall other times in my past that I’ve done something similar and kept wearing shoes that don’t quite fit. Because isn’t that what women do??
But, of course, this is not really about ill-fitted shoes.
This is more about my inability to feel secure in myself. My willingness to suffer pained feet, embarrassment and potential injury just to save face in a world that I didn’t even really want to be a part of. It wasn’t MY world. I wasn’t comfortable in it. Although I’m thankful for the experience, I’m not one who seeks out mansion parties or chooses to schmooze with music producers.
I was a fake. I held it together for awhile, but it became more and more apparent that the life I was living was my husbands dream and not mine. So after I made that realization, I started to change. Or more so, I began to hold more true to myself.
For various reasons (including the events at that festival) I backed away from his business and started looking for a new job myself. I started asking the questions that I was afraid to hear the answers to. And I had to sit with those answers, however uncomfortable. But the more I sat with these feelings the more I realized that I was not doing either of us any favors. I was not being true to myself and therefore not being true to him or our marriage.
Things changed for awhile and seemed to get better.
But I still felt like he was chasing a dream that I had no part of. He wanted me to, but he wanted the “fake me” to go along with it.
And eventually things fell apart. (for multiple reasons..)
Looking back on the whole timeline, this festival was the beginning of my metamorphosis. The realization that I was wearing shoes that do not fit to go places I did not wish to be.
Really, I know I’m not alone in this, that this is not the only time this analogy has taken place. Not only are we trained to wear uncomfortable shoes from a young age, women are often held to this standard of appearance, of support and nurture that is sometimes detrimental to our own selves. We’re so used to, and trained to, fit in and balance out our relationships that often our own feelings, wants, and identity get pushed to the side.
I also know that this is not true for everyone. Some of you have been able to stand true to yourselves and managed to walk through life in shoes that fit. And I commend you for that! Not everyone has been able to stand firm in their self-identity like that.
Besides that, we should also acknowledge that it is also okay to try on new shoes, to try new experiences that may not be comfortable at first (like mansion parties). You may find that you enjoy them! And that’s great! Where the heck outta them shoes, girl!!
But if you find yourself wearing shoes that are uncomfortable, that leave you sinking into the earth and feeling unbalanced, know that it’s also okay to just chuck those shoes in the trash. Go barefoot for awhile or just put on your old dirty sneaks. Do what you need to be comfortable with yourself. But don’t hold onto the shoes that don’t fit, because carrying around those uncomfortable shoes is awkward and a burden that you do not need to put onto yourself.
Eventually you will find the shoes, and the life, that fits you better.
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