Have you ever seen How I Met Your Mother? There is an episode where they discuss Marshall’s underpants radius. I believe this underpants radius was a result of his break-up with Lily. He was wallowing after their break-up and the longer he wallowed, the further away from his apartment he would wander in his underpants, until he was comfortable being outside in just his underpants. Thereby creating his underpants radius.
I may not have an underpants radius, but as of the last few years, I do have a pajama pants radius. This became abundantly clear this evening as I changed out of my outside pajama pants to my inside pajama pants. I spent the day in bed, sick, having called out of work. I did however, have to pick up the kids after school this afternoon. Hence the need to go from inside to outside and then back to inside pajamas. Now that I’m at this stage in life, there is a freedom that comes from expanding my pajama radius. And I’m here for it.
Nowadays, I either look like Adam Sandler or the creepy neighbor from Home Alone. There doesn’t seem to be much in-between. Well that’s applicable to probably 80% of my life outside the four walls of our home. And me from two decades ago, a decade ago and even five years ago would be mortified that my pajama pants are a staple item in my not-so-fashion-forward life. Let’s be real, I’ve never been a fashionista or talented make-up artist, but the idea of leaving the house sans makeup and donning black pajama pants would have given past me heart palpitations.
The wonderful thing about being in the I-do-not-give-a-fuck-forties is that I truly don’t give a fuck anymore. I think I recognized that the full face of make-up and outfits were more for others than myself. I was so concerned with what others thought about me. How they would judge me. That they would clutch their pearls and stare at me in disbelief that I would dare bare a make-up free face or less than stellar outfit choices. That the person they sauntered by in a matter of seconds would somehow be impactful to their day.
The truth is that idea was greatly impactful to my day. Not theirs. It haunted me for so long. And I let it perpetuate so many of the less than ideal views I had of myself. I let the opinions of others dictate so much of my life and who I strove to be every day. It stopped me from doing things and going places. I was so concerned with people’s reactions of what I looked like that I could not imagine putting myself in certain scenarios. Whether I was deeply uncomfortable in a social situation or passing people at the grocery store or removing myself completely from an event to avoid what I thought would be judgement, each of those choices was a result of me wanting to avoid seeing people’s reactions to me. It is not a fun or comfortable way to move through each day.
But as each year flew by and my age ticked upward, those feelings started to dissipate. The discomfort of walking through a grocery store without mascara and blush. The four seconds of passing by someone who may have possibly glanced in my direction. The resulting fear of sorts began to melt away. Suddenly and most beautifully a stranger’s opinion of me started to matter far, far less. And now that I am where I am, it’s difficult to admit that for so long, that wasn’t the case. There is also a joy in recognizing that when I choose to put time into myself it’s for me now. It’s because I like how it looks and how it makes me feel. Not to avoid the judgement of others. Judge away folks. Judge away. And now when I want to run a quick errand or a lot of no-so-quick-errands, my default is not to stop and delay the process in order to put makeup on for the sake of people around me. My people don’t care. And the opinions of people that are not my people in life are astoundingly irrelevant.
I am not at my ideal weight. Far from it. Perimenopause is a bitch. I don’t have a perfect 12-step skin routine that I follow nightly. I have YouTubed a few plans but to be honest, I am useless in that region of life. I’d love to be better but alas it is just not in the stars at the moment. The fashion forward gene never hit me, although I try my best. I’ve already admitted to excelling at life in pajama (and yoga) pants, so that one can’t be a surprise. But you want a damned good cookie or someone to listen to the chaos that was your day. You want to come over for too many homemade snacks and a glass of wine. You’re looking for a spaghetti Sunday with too many people. Or need to connect in a late night text message over something that is weighing heavy in life at the moment. For that, I’m your gal and always will be. I got you covered. And those are the areas that matter more to me.
There is also a freedom that stems from the recognition of what matters most to me. It’s the three human beings and a rambunctious puppy that live within the four walls of our home. Not once has any of them made comments about me going makeup free or being in comfy pants and a sweatshirt. The safety net they’ve allowed me to create and live day-to-day is beyond anything else in this world. Parents that have consistently supported me in each and every next step I take. The friends and confidants I have at home in Wisconsin that have survived decades of my life with me, including the ones where I was hyper cognizant of what others thought. Again, they never concerned themselves with what I wore or how I looked. It’s the women I have welcomed into my life since the kids entered school age who have rooted me on and supported me in the next crazy endeavor I mention I want to jump into. Their cheers and support continue to push me forward and help me believe that whatever it is, I will be successful at it. I can only hope for each of these incredible figures in my life, from the three I live with every day to those that have stayed with me through thick and thin and the ones new to the adventures of my pajama pants radius, that I return the support and joy to their lives as much as they bring to mine.
Although my pajama pants radius can’t really grow much more, since there is no limit to where I will go in comfy clothes, I am looking forward to continuing down the no-fucks-to-give path in life. Not every day will be perfect. I fully anticipate running into discomfort and situations I would rather moonwalk backwards out of but those are fewer and further in between as, again, I just don’t give a fuck. I highly recommend it. For me it came when I hit 40 and realized that there is just not enough time in life to dedicate to worrying about opinions that truly are irrelevant. There are a million and one other things happening every moment of every day and no longer will I put time and effort into the things that are not impactful to my life. And crazy as it would have seemed to me at 20, but the person that walks past me in the grocery store while I peruse allergy friendly snacks or whatever cheese I’m craving, is not paying any attention to me, and even if they are, fuck it.
Too Much Laundry, Not Enough Wine 