Company policy was not enforced from Day-1, in this instance, and Misti was visibly shaken by management’s change of heart. It would have been no consequence to me if I were required to wear boring black socks at work instead of my boring white ones. Granted it would interject the risk of mismatched socks into my life, but I could stand a little excitement in my daily existence.
Listening to Misti it struck me as a minor bump in the road, but I have decades of life experience beyond her tender years. This felt like a personal attack to her and was causing real distress. Not only that, she was given ten days to comply.
The following week when Misti emerged into the dining area, she glumly extended one foot to reveal a company-approved black sock; her mood was nearly as dark.
The cadre of senior regulars offered sympathy, encouragement, and tried to help her see things in perspective. She understood the big picture, but confessed, "I don’t have to like it." I can’t argue with that, but compliance was a big step (so to speak) in the right direction.
When Misti looked my direction, I made a big show of blinking my eyes and shading them with my hands as though protecting my retinas from shocking brilliance. She mistook this as a declaration that I thought the black socks were too horrible for my gaze.
"I know," Misti groaned, "They’re awful!"
"No! I’ve never seen anything like it," I corrected, "I see rainbows and hearts in the brightest colors I’ve ever seen!
Misti wasn’t buying it. She saw black, felt black, and that was all there was to it. I explained to her the colors were still there, no matter what. No one could steal them away, but she had to believe it, too.
The following week Misti bounced out from the food preparation area, thrust out a foot and declared, "Look! Rainbow zebra stripes and polka dots on that one and …" she hopped to switch to the opposite foot, "Neon Happy Faces with sparkles on this one!" Misti had indeed found a Happy Face and it was uniquely hers. (And yes, the socks were still solid black.)
I feel compelled to pause and ask if you can even remember what color socks you pulled on this morning? (Bet I made some of you actually look!)
This wasn’t really about argyle socks vs. knee-highs, or silk stockings compared to tube socks. Color, style, length, function are merely categories. The issue went beyond being sock-deep. It was about taking charge of something everyone has the power to control: oneself. Call it attitude adjustment, self improvement, or whatever you prefer. It’s the coping mechanism to deal with the areas of life we can’t change and to recognize our ability as survivors to change our world by the way we view it. I believe that applies to black socks, a serious health problem, financial crisis, difficult people we can’t avoid, and everything in between.
Some situations are temporary, while others just aren’t going away. My husband has arthritis, but explains that, "I wake up every morning hurting. I can go through the day feeling sorry for myself and asking ‘why me’ or I can put a smile on my face and make things better for the people around me. Either way I still hurt. But when I’m cheerful, it helps."
I admit it doesn’t always come that easy to me. I have to make a conscious effort and I frequently fall back into old, negative thought patterns. Thinking about Misti has made me reflect on that and I can see areas in my life where ‘black socks’ were taking over. It’s time to swap them out for some that fit!
This morning my socks glow in the dark, so I never need to be afraid of shadows. They have rainbows around the cuffs to promise every storm will pass. Check this out – they don’t even match! My left sock is variegated greens (think growing, living things like plants and trees) with a big fuchsia heart to remind me love is the answer. The right sock is passionate purple and covered with stars made of metallic silver threads to keep me reaching for my dreams, no matter how far away they may appear.
One more thing; my new socks are packaged in pairs of seven, not six, and they are free.
©2010 Roberta McReynolds for SeniorWomen.com
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