I have wandered through my life with no particular plan, swayed by whatever seemed interesting at the time. Or tagged along with someone who was going somewhere – anywhere – I didn’t really care, as long as I was moving.
I’ve branded my life ‘the gypsy approach’ and I’ve dressed accordingly. Not in a conscious way; I just seemed to gravitate to the carefree colours that appealed to me at the time. And with reckless abandon I could adorn the colours of the rainbow, in a single outfit – none of which matched anything else at the time. Easy for me – hard on anyone who had to view me from the other side. My best friend would hold her breath until I arrived at her door, wondering what outlandish mis-match of colours I’d turn up in for an event the average person would at least try to colour-coordinate for. I didn’t care.
And I didn’t care too much about protocols either. I could spontaneously just pack up and move house; from across town – to across the world. Not exactly reassuring for anyone in my life who was ruled by consistency.
But, I have to admit, the administration role I had in the later years of my career reined me in a bit – on weekdays – but let me loose again on weekends. Now that I’ve retired, every day is Saturday, and the spontaneity of my life that played out in the outer layers of my attire is back.
The gypsy in me is alive and well.