The Last Day Of My Thirties.

Well its here, the very last day that I can say I am a woman in my thirties. 
Tomorrow marks the beginning of a new decade.
Today I met my friend and we went out for lunch. 
I'm not a social butterfly, I'm more of a shut in so this is progress. 
Lunch was wonderful. Not so much for the food which was average to say the least. A roasted root vegetable salad in which every vegetable tasted the same all with a heavy dose of cumin thrown in to make the tongue tingle. I'm trying to stay away from "safe" ordering. Usually I'd order the fish but I really do need to broaden my horizons and so now when I am out to eat I try things I never would have. 
However our meal was eaten Al fresco beside the water on a gorgeous spring day, you can't ask for better than that.
I had forgotten just how pleasurable it can be to sit with someone and talk and laugh and share a meal. 
For years I have been an angry angry girl. Being infertile and unable to do anything about it  meant that I hated life and did everything I could to disassociate from everything and everyone. 
This means I missed a lot of the social aspects of being a woman in her thirties. 

Being a shut in means you never have anyone to judge you. 
It also means you have no mirror except that which you walk past without taking any notice of. 
So you forget how to dress for social situations. 
Twenty years ago I simply slid into my favourite black mini skirt and threw on a top and I was good to go. Ten years ago I wriggled into my favourite jeans and shrugged on a shirt, added some boho accessories and same thing, good to go. 
But now, not only do I not know what to wear I also until quite recently didn't have it in my wardrobe if I did magically find the answer. 

So people watching at lunch becomes more a homework assignment than a way to pass the time.
Sitting directly behind us was a large table of women obviously quite used to being the ladies who lunch. All in their late thirties or older and not a monster stroller insight anywhere. Women who were all wearing the summery type outfit that I have never been able to pull off. Those triangular baby doll type dresses that look like they belong on pre schooler's.
You have to admire someone so comfortable with the shape of their knees at 40 years old.   

I was sitting there in a pair of capri jeans and a black tank and strappy sandals taking it all in. Why did these women all look so put together when I looked half done?
And then I realised, accessories, I was wearing none and they really do complete an outfit. Jewelry, a scarf, a handbag make all the difference.

So the last lesson of my thirties is this - look in the mirror and see what's missing.

Commitment -not just a word jilted lovers use at the therapist.

I used to be so good at this. Sitting down on a daily basis and posting.
A few years on and I find that by the time I have something to say it's yet another day gone by.
The biggest problem with starting any new blog is the thought, "Is anybody out there?" or "Am I just writing blindly into an empty cyber space?"

My last blog was a cornucopia of items, meme's, generally a riot of opinion not always well received. And isn't it funny that most people who object to a blog post enough to comment on it rarely leave their name, preferring instead to hide behind anonymous.

This blog is aiming to be something extremely different. The grown up version of my previous musings. 

In less than a month I turn 40.
This milestone typically throws a woman into the path of such revelations as belly fat, the out dated hairstyle, wondering how now to dress and still be on the fashionable side of prudence. Because lets face it those thigh high lace up motor cycle boots that you love so much only work on the celebrity 40 year old.  
Fashion magazines start to become slightly irrelevant. Sure those dreamy floaty muslin peasant tops look great matched with smaller than daisy duke cut off's but honestly your thighs aren't what they used to be. Yet the thought of teaming them with a skirt seems some how a bit mumsy.

I confess I'm not a skirt wearer. In my youth I was known for the trademark black mini skirt dubbed by one and al as the nappy. Those days are long gone. 
I missed the whole fashion for yummy mummy's as I haven't had children and so that transition from being a child to bearing children hasn't affected me. 
I breezed straight on through those late twenties early thirties as the brat in black. 

Career wise I've been for the most part a jeans and boots wearer.No corporate suits for me.No intricate routine of hairstyle and makeup over the last twenty years so the more mature dressing is still an enigma to me.

And lately pajama's have been the fashion go to's most of the time. Combining depression with Seasonal Affective Disorder means I want to be warm, comfortable and left alone.
Not conducive to getting out and having a life. You know you are pretty far gone when you find yourself doing your shopping in your pj's. 

So how to turn this around?
Do I look for celebrity inspiration? The fact that Julia Roberts looks amazing and she's four years older than me? Probably won't help. After all its easy to be motivated when you've already got a full life, a personal trainer and the added benefit of acting for a few weeks for a few million dollars. 
Nope that's not going to get it done. 

One foot in front of the other, steely determination, inspiration of a more natural sort, dare I say it, will power? The catalyst is out there, I just have to find it.