any deathbed bombshells, she left us with just as many questions as grandma number one. Of course I knew she was smart. She had jumped ahead two years in school and had attended a private university during World War II, dropping out to get married after my grandfather came home. Sometimes she would write poems and stories that were so good that I’d ask whose they were because I was certain they were copied from some famous work, but they were always hers. Which was cool, but I never really gave it a second thought.
That is, until she died. Sure, I had seen her scrapbooks and heard her funny story about sunbathing in a cemetery with her sorority sisters and getting caught by the nuns, but her scrapbooks and stories were just the tip of the vast iceberg of who she was as a person and as a woman. Although before her death she had been honest in sharing her dissatisfaction with her own life, we couldn’t understand or appreciate the depth of that pain because we had never been allowed to see fully who she was.
After she passed away, we found journals and notebooks, where she drew incredible pictures, wrote breathtaking poems, and related stories that provided rich insight into her, her marriage, and the world. Not just into her as a wife, mom, or school secretary but as a woman, and the pain she experienced in covering her sparkle and light and being everything she thought she was supposed to be instead. She kept much of her intellect and passions hidden, and as a result, her life was never that happy or that fulfilled.
Wearing masks, covering themselves with the requisite costumes of the day, and dancing choreography that was not their own robbed these two women of themselves and their capacity to experience authentic joy and fulfillment. But it also robbed us of the ability to know, or see, or grow through them and the stories of their lives.
I don’t know about you, but when I die, I don’t want my family going through my things and feeling that sense of loss, that sense of If I had only known. . .about me. I want to express myself fully, to be seen and known, for everything that I am deep inside, giving myself the opportunity to live fully, joyously, and intimately connected to those I love. Now. Not after I die.
I can only imagine the legacy my two grandmas could have left, had they been brave enough to reveal themselves fully. To show who they were. To allow themselves to be expansive, seen, and accepted as they truly were. What about you? What is your legacy?
When was the last time you were giddy with anticipation over something you were about to do? When you knew that what you wanted to do made little or no practical sense, but you knew you had to try or you’d regret it forever? No matter how old you are, no matter what you look like or sound like, it’s never too late. In fact, the older you are, the more imperative it is to begin now! So, if there is anything in you that wants something more, you owe it to yourself to give it a try, to create your legacy. . .or you risk regretting it forever.
For me, it was dance. What could it be for you?
The Labels, Roles & Scripts of My Emerging Womanhood
Let me share with you the labels, roles, and scripts of my past. The accompanying costumes, accessories, and dance steps that were all a part of the choreography created for me by others. Why? Because oftentimes we see aspects of ourselves in the stories of others, bringing us levels of insight that we didn’t have before. What I want for you is to be able to recognize and release the choreography that no longer serves you so you can dance your dance, your own way. To see how my past informed my present, how it almost dictated my future, and how I used FLAUNT! to set myself free from constantly seeking external validation and find joy and satisfaction beyond what I thought possible.
What I wanted, deep in my soul, was to be wickedly smart, without being labeled an aggressive bitch. To be powerfully spiritual, using and developing my own intuition on my own terms, without being called a New Age, woo-woo freak. To be sexy as hell, my own way, and enjoy how my body looked and felt, without being called a slut. I wanted to flaunt and to be all that I was without apology and most certainly without cover. Without checking pieces of me at the door when I went into a professional environment, and without altering or limiting myself to suit others. I wanted to flaunt myself, not to be obnoxious but to allow myself the opportunity to live the full breadth of all that I was. Part Amazon warrior, part gangly pink flamingo, part regal countess, part traditional June Cleaver, part ethereal goddess. I wanted to set all of me free, to show myself and the world everything I was capable of. Without worrying what people might think.
What Women Should Do, Think, Believe, and Wear
I was a successful corporate attorney with a good life. I had a husband, two children, and a house, and everything was fine. Normal. Just what it was supposed to be. It was just that most days felt like a sprint to a finish line that was constantly being moved one mile farther away. No matter how hard I tried, I could never please everyone, get it all done, or look the way I wanted to look. Collapsing into bed, sometimes in the same yoga pants I had collapsed into bed in the night before, I’d wonder, Is this really all there is? Because, seriously, there’s got to be something more!
I think we’ve probably all had times when we’ve been overwhelmed and frustrated without really knowing why or having any idea what to do about it. My solution was to randomly invest in self-help books, sign up for personal-development seminars, schedule in more regular spa days, and rope my family into morning meditation. There, that should do it! If I were somehow on the proverbial “wrong path,” I sure as heck was going to figure it out and get myself, my life, and my family back on track. Perhaps you may have gone down this road a time or two? I thought so.
With my family rolling their eyes and finding excuses to skip out of family meditation hour, I homed in on finding my life purpose and living my highest good, making these concepts the gold standards to which I aspired. I was certain that finding these magical yet elusive things would put me on the “right path” (even if my wayward family chose not to come along) and give me the joyful, meaningful, and chaos-free life filled with intimacy and connection that I craved.
But try as I might, I couldn’t figure out how to put living my highest good or finding my life purpose on my vision board, because I had no idea what those concepts really meant — they just sounded good. Like things I “should” aspire to, because if I somehow achieved them, my frustration would magically go away. And, as I’m sure you can guess, nothing ever really changed.
Which, ironically, was kind of a relief. Because the idea of disrupting my carefully orchestrated life was scary, too! Building my so-called perfect life had been no small task, and I wasn’t about to let it go in search of some elusive New Age concept. You see, my life wasn’t really about me anymore. I had a family who needed me to care for them; that’s what mattered now. Never mind that I had never moved to New York or Los Angeles, auditioned for the Rockettes, or trekked through Europe. I was his wife, their mom, and Lora Cheadle, Esquire, now. And proper wives, moms, and lawyers weren’t sexy. Or flirty. Or daring. Or too smart. Or too powerful.
So I stayed safely in my role of corporate wife, suburban mom, and competent woman, dancing within the bounds of the neat little box — labeled “what your life should look like” — in which I lived, performing the same worn-out choreography that I had been given, while feeling slightly dissatisfied and disconnected. From my life, but more importantly, from me.
Finding My FLAUNT!
With an explosion of color, FLAUNT! woke me up to the fact that I had spent my life dancing choreography that was not my own. I had let others choose the music, the costumes, and even the stage on which I was supposed to perform. I had willingly cloaked myself with costumes, labels, roles, and scripts that were not mine. In my quest for “perfect womanhood” I had inadvertently hidden my true self and dulled my own sparkle.