Having spent portions of a glorious Saturday perusing Winnipeg's "Ragpickers : The Unfashion Emporium", I'm gripped by the fear that I've missed my true calling. I ought to be dressed in a pale blue tutu from 1951, bangles jangling on my wrists, and feet slipped into well-worn secondhand cowboy boots. I was meant to finger old linens with intricate histories and armed with needle, thread, and an enamel bowl full of ancient buttons, I ought to be repurposing and breathing life back into the garments of yesteryear.
I should be busy with interior design, re-selling the turquoise and orange housewares from another time, and fashioning all manner of art from the world's discards. My weekends and weekdays should find me at estate sales, yard sales, auction sales.
My closet should be spilling out into my shop, where I putter and rearrange to my hearts' content.
And that's just the tip of the ever growing pile of textiles.
Ought to have grown up raising chickens instead of mastering levels on video games.
They ought to be concerned about global events and gathering signatures on petitions instead of texting someone at school who they don't even like.
I should be secure.
I shouldn't be struggling with the same pains and fears that I remember from the age of twelve and onward. I should be over that by now. I should be running seminars to expound on the secrets of no longer being haunted by my twelve year old self.
And those are just a few of the reasons why I'm considering having a full blown mid-life crisis.
Can you relate? Do you have reasons of your own?