The day I stopped caring (about pants)

I like to make an effort. I have a couple of rules about going out and socialising. Well, not rules exactly – but a couple of habits that have endured for ages.

Number one: Never turn down an invitation unless you genuinely can’t make it.

Number two: Always wear something nice.

And this is the way it was for years.  Years and years. Number one was a symptom of growing up in a small town that was just a little bit far from almost all my friends- who lived in the next town. I was cut off by forest geography after about quarter past ten each night.  And I was always aware that, quite rightly, my friends met up without me because I just couldn’t always attend and I was that much further away.

But I was always a teensy bit jealous.

So I always went to everything. I never missed an opportunity to socialise and never made an excuse or avoided a situation. I lived for being sociable -  being slightly more cut off either drove this or made it more annoying. Who knows.

Recently I’ve become a tiny bit more picky. I will say no to the occasional invite, though it’s still pretty rare. Sometimes I get that feeling whereby, despite a longstanding plan with friends that you’ve been looking forward to for ages, and despite enthusiasm at the time of planning, it gets to the night itself and I think:

OH HORRORS, DO I HAVE TO? THE SOFA IS SO COMFORTABLE.

But this passes pretty quick. I have a third rule- never cancel on people at short notice.  People do it to me ALL THE TIME and, whilst I never mind, on one particular birthday I learned never to do it to others because it can be a fuck when it happens to you, all at once on the same night, one cancellation after the next.

And you make yourself go, have a drink, put on some Britney- get yourself enthused, and then you go and have a FUCKING GOOD TIME.

I just fancied a quiet night out.

Of course it’s fun! It was always going to be fun.  We just experience that lazy bit before hand.

We’re older now.

But now?  A new development. A new development pertaining to Number 2: Nice clothes.

 I’m a bit fussy about clothes. I like clothes. I like outfits and looking nice and making the effort. People generally conclude that I’m quite well dressed. I like that.

And the other day, I was getting ready to go out. I had some nice new jeans on. You know when they’re all new and tight. I had my amazing winged trainers on. Nice t-shirt. Nice belt. Nice outfit.

Then I noticed I was wearing horrible pants. 

Not horrible.  Boring maybe. Not a nice waistband. Not nice enough to be poking out from beneath my jeans a bit, and more importantly NOT MATCHING ANYTHING ELSE I WAS WEARING.

But my winged trainers take forever to do up. They’re really tall lace-up hi-tops. And my new jeans were so new and skinny and tight they were a battle to get on and off.

So I did nothing.

I left it, and went out in horrible pants.  And within a few minutes I didn’t even remember.

I’m sure no-one else would notice/care/give a fuck anyway.  But *I* do.

Until that day.

That was the day that I stopped caring.

That was the day I stopped caring about pants.

Day 30: React to this term: Letting Go (#BEDM).

I have no sense of self-preservation at all when it comes to climbing. I’ve always been a climber.... I like climbing. I used to climb trees and walls and things as a child without hesitation. Then I grew out of it for a while. Then I took up climbing a few years ago as an adult, and – unsurprisingly I suppose –took to it straight away.

I went twice a week for a long time, and got pretty good pretty quick. I have tried to continue in that vein, but promotions and work commitments ate into my time and it dropped down to once a week, then once a fortnight. I pretty much keep to that, and still love it. I can do some pretty tricky moves and walls and climbs now- and the occasional thing that I think “Oooh, I must look way cool doing that!”

And I’ve done Go Ape! a couple of times too, with friends for birthdays and things. I love it, and am equally fearless. I didn’t see myself as fearless until this point - only when my friends commented that I have no sense of self-preservation did I notice.

It’s because I completely trust the equipment. Experience is part of it, definitely, but I suffer no concern at all that it’s high up or dangerous or I might fall. I can’t fall- I am tied to the top with string. Other people were in a state of shock when I leapt off of things in a crazy fashion, or ran full-pelt across tiny rope walkways, falling off and screeching along half way across, or when I let go and dangled off the side of a platform, or shouted down to the supervisors “Are we allowed to jump off, no hands?”

Apparently we were.  So I did.

And you know what?  It’s about letting go. If you jump off a few things, low down if need be, you learn that the rope holds you. It will catch you. You can’t fall because you are tied to the wall. But people don’t like to. But then they never learn how safe it is.

Let go. And trust in your equipment.

Let go. Then you learn how safe letting go is.