THE RED SUIT

The power of advertising became clear to me when I ponder the red suit.  I saw it in a catalogue on a tall, slim model.  The ad promised me 'slimming pants' and, though I know I'm not the same size, shape or age as the model, I thought to myself: "that's for me."  It'll look snappy and jaunty. So I went to the store, tried it on, bought it, and brought it home.  Only then did I realize that it's not going to work for me.  Not anymore.  Not now.  Not at my age.  I've become an elder. 

Yes, I can still wear red -- as an accent.  But to be all in red, like a cherry, like a luscious piece of fruit ripe for the picking, is to deny what I am now.  I'm in the autumnal years.  Wise, perhaps, sometimes.  Energetic, yes.  Able to contribute still to society, absolutely!  But I'm no longer young, and that's the truth. My jaunt and snap is tempered by a mellowness of years, a deepening of dimensions.

I once had a conversation with my older son as we walked in the woods.  He expressed fear that, as he got older, the vividness of life would diminish.  I told him that perhap at his age colours are almost psychodelic  in their brightness.  (In fact, I think studies have been done that show that for young people, colours really are brighter and more vivid.)  But the older one gets, the more colours have the richness and depth of an oriental carpet.  Hues, like wine, get better with age.

And so, taking the suit back was a watershed moment of recognizing who I am now.  Not who I was or wish to be, but who I am.  It came with both a sadness for letting go of the catalogue image desire, and a confidence in the awareness of reality.  But I refuse to buy the oatmeal coloured sweater like my mother used to wear that makes me look washed out and faded!