Last week I had my colors done. As it turns out, I'm a Summer. For the last thirty years, I've been under the impression that I was a Winter (if you're not familiar with the Color Me Beautiful system, you can check it out here). The Winter message says: Your coloring is crisp and distinctive. Winters are rich and intense in hair and eye color. You receive compliments in bold shades, black white, red and jewel tones.
Summer? A whole 'nother country: Your overall coloring is the most delicate and understated of all the seasons. Summer is the serenity palette, so you should always avoid harsh contrasts by keeping the entire look calm and in complete harmony. You receive compliments in pastel shades of rose, periwinkle, sage.
Who knew? I'm delicate and understated. I can wear pale yellow. The stylist who did my color chart held up a light, light brown swatch to my face, and it looked fabulous. All that black I've been wearing for the last thirty years? Totally wrong (although it worked for the punk rock look I was cultivating back in the day).
So now I have to completely revise not only my entire wardrobe, but my self-image as well. All my life I've thought of myself as a brightly-colored bull in a china shop, and it turns out I'm a delicate flower. Lovely.
I went out to lunch with an old friend last week. She's someone I used to work with before Jack was born, and we've stayed in touch over the years, but haven't actually socialized much. She was definitely my favorite coworker back in the day, but as I was driving to meet her I couldn't remember if she was someone I'd just liked an awful lot--and I did like her an awful lot--or if she was someone I loved to talk to. You'd think I'd remember something like that, but I'm old and my memory's not what it used to be.
Here's the thing: there are people in my life I think are fabulous, but I don't actually have that much to say to. There's a woman I used to go to church with whom I adore--she's bright and feisty, the sort of person who actually lives out her values instead of just yapping on about them the way I do. I admire her and like her immensely. But the few times we tried to get together socially, it just didn't work. She's brightly optimistic, I'm darkly somewhat hopeful but also pretty pessimistic. She doesn't read much; I panic if I have to wait somewhere for five minutes without a book. She's an extrovert, I'm an introvert. You get the picture.
So, driving to meet Anne, I worried that all my fond feelings for her wouldn't actually translate into good conversation. Anne's very creative, but her background is in business. She comes from money, I come from the U.S. Army (my dad was career military). Maybe we would discuss the old days at work and then lapse into silence.
Well, I'm pleased as punch to report that we had a grand time. We talked about our children of course, and we talked about work. But we also talked about quantum physics and our wasted college years and the best recipes for deviled eggs. When it came time to go, I hated to say goodbye. It was one of the best conversations I had in years. And we didn't mention the old days once.
The best thing of all? I felt like I'd made a new friend. Who happens to be an old friend. Who happens to be as obsessed with deviled eggs as I am. Life is sweet.