There is No Crying in Fabulous Shoe Night

All throughout the genesis and planning of the Fabulous Shoe Night concept, I have been eager to basically just hurry up and start helping people already. Having to wait to do so until the (boring! mundane! God-awful!) legalities could be put in place was like Chinese water torture to me, because, as anyone who knows me will tell you, I am not very patient. So I should have been thrilled and happy last Thursday night, the evening of our first fund raising event, that what I had been waiting for, planning for, wishing for all these months was finally here, right?

Nope. Not even close.

Instead I was a bewildering blend of self-doubt and certainty. I was certain … positive! … that no one would show up. Certain that the entire concept was a stupid idea. What was I thinking …?? A women's social group combining shoes and charity??  Ridiculous!! A little voice would occasionally interrupt (I like to think it was the voice of reason) and whisper that if it were truly a stupid idea, I wouldn't have so many wonderful, intelligent, busy people offering their time and talent to help make my "folly" a reality. Only problem was ... it didn't interrupt often enough. In the mental tug-of-war between self-doubt and reason, self-doubt was clearly ahead.

Sorella Boutique, here in my hometown of Media, PA, was hosting the first ever Fabulous Shoe Night charitable event. Guests were invited to wear their most fabulous shoes, and enjoy wine, champagne and appetizers as they shopped. 20% of sales from the evening would go to deserving clients of Lovely You, a shop catering to the special needs of women enduring the ravages of chemotherapy and/or radiation, offering wigs, head scarves and comfort care products … as well as emotional support. I couldn't think of a better  group to help for our first event, and my panic rose anew … I didn't want to fail these women.

The closer the hour got to the event, the more doubt crept in, all but 

obliterating any voice of reason. I needed reinforcements. I had already pestered my husband enough during the day … so I called Jeff. He has that Yoda-like quality that imparts calm and wisdom during my frequent bouts of panic. Thank God he picked up. After patiently listening to my verbal and emotional tsunami, clearly hearing the impending tears in my voice, he succinctly said, "There is no crying in Fabulous Shoe Night."  As I tried to protest, he stopped me again, knowing I hadn't really heard him. "No … listen to me. There is NO crying in Fabulous Shoe Night. People will come, it's going to be great. Just go and do it. Call me tomorrow." 

Oh … ! Well … that was quick. Humph. Having no other choice, I squared my shoulders and sighed, brushing away one last tear. Okay, then … let's do this.

Through my panic, I couldn't help but notice as I walked through the door at Sorella that the atmosphere was … festive. Char, the owner, and her staff were excited, happily relaying that they had been answering calls all day from women inquiring about the event. 

Despite my fear of no one showing up, women began to slowly trickle in, some in groups, others alone. I walked around, talking to each of them about what Fabulous Shoe Night was all about, and my goals and hopes for the future. Everyone seemed very receptive to the idea, and not a single person confirmed my fear that it was a "stupid" idea. Quite the opposite, actually … they loved it. I slowly began to relax. 

At one point I stood back and just observed, visually trying to drink in everything that was going on. I noticed something I hadn't counted on … in fact, never even thought of;  a growing sense of sisterhood became evident. There was an energy in the air that you could actually feel. They got it. A group of women came together on that rainy Thursday night to help other women, women they don't know … and will likely never meet. But we all knew we were there in silent support of these women going through their own personal Hell called cancer. We were happy to be there, and that positive energy we all felt was both unifying and unmistakably up-lifting.

By the end of the night, I was mentally drained, but feeling buoyant enough to go out for a celebratory drink with Char and my friend Patty. We exceeded our goal for the night … exceeded it. I'm still trying to wrap my head around it. When I think that the money we raised that night may help a woman going through chemotherapy get a wig instead of the head scarf she thought she had to settle for … I feel buoyant all over again. That's what we're all about. That's the spirit of Fabulous Shoe Night I intended all along … women coming together for a fun night out, all wearing our most fabulous shoes, helping to make the world a better place … unified. 

Every time I think about it, my eyes fill with tears. Happy tears.

Let's do this.

Who ... Me? Networking .... ??

I was lucky enough to attend the "Women on the Move" luncheon given by Main Line Today Magazine last month, as two of my friends were honored. I was going for the fun, and to support my friends, yet a lot of people told me it would be a great networking opportunity to get the word out about Fabulous Shoe Night. 

Oh … I never really thought of it that way.

Networking is not something that comes naturally to me, as I've never had to do it. Before my entry into full-time Mommy-hood, I was a nurse, and, unless you had administrative aspirations, you just did your job and collapsed at the end of each shift. Simple enough. The same with motherhood … do your "job," and pretty much collapse at the end of each day … hoping that when your head hit the pillow it actually was the end of your day. Sure, there are always those Mommies in any neighborhood, pre-school playground, etc. that try to cozy up to the "popular" Mom … but, if you want to get technical, they're actually social climbing, not networking. Not something to aspire to.

So, I went to the luncheon with some new terminology swimming about my head … I wasn't just there to support my friends, I was also there to "network" and "make contacts." 

Okay. 

Ummm …. okay. 

For those of you who may not know me personally, did I mention that I'm shy? I am. For those of you who do know me, please stop giggling. I say that because, every time I mention what I feel to be my innate shyness to one of my friends, they always burst out laughing, at which point I usually stamp my foot in frustration while insisting that I really am shy. This is always followed by more laughter, then another foot stamp and a more emphatic "Really!!!" ... with perhaps a mild expletive thrown in. My wonderful friend Danel is a perfect example of this;  she burst into a fit of giggles when I once mentioned my shyness. The more I protested, the more (and harder) she laughed. Ten minutes later we just had to call a truce and agree to disagree … each confident that we were actually the right one.

Armed with the knowledge that I was there to harvest "contacts," I scanned the crowd nervously. How does one go about this networking, I wondered? Forgetting my mission, I soon became engrossed looking at all the women's shoes. Old habits die hard, I guess. Before I knew it, though, someone was complimenting me on my shoes. We got to chatting. One thing led to another, and before I had time to think about the answer, I was asked what it was I "did." My usual answer, "I'm a stay-at-home Mom … I have three sons," was on the tip of my tongue before I caught it. Instead, I answered, " I'm forming a women's social group combining fashion and charity for fabulous women … it's called Fabulous Shoe Night." Previously, my answer regarding full-time motherhood would be met by a myriad of reactions ranging from admiration to all-out pity, so I was unprepared for what came next. "Wow!! Really??! That sounds like so much fun! Tell me more!" Before I knew it, the one woman I was talking to had morphed into five. They all had questions for me. Someone tapped my shoulder and said there was someone on the other side of the room who wanted to meet me. Wait … wanted to meet  me?  Oh … okay.

By the end of the luncheon, I had a purse full of business cards, two lunch dates, and an offer to do PR. Oh, yeah … and an invitation to join a women's networking group.

Networking group, you ask?

Not to worry … I've got this networking thing covered. 

The (Too) High Price of Fashion ... (continued)

Part II: The Fall

The doorman grasped my elbow protectively as he guided me up the stairs and out of the storm. I thanked him profusely as he took my (useless) umbrella out of my hands and closed it with a practiced ease. "Bet you're glad to be out of that mess, huh?" he asked. Just this brief, pleasant exchange, combined with being out of the fury of Mother Nature and the other horrible events of the morning, made me feel … protected, taken care of. What a nice older gentleman! He saw I was in distress, soaked, stressed, and helped me. I loved this place. It was safe. I smiled at him gratefully, feeling the pink, happy glow of unexpected, caring interaction between two strangers. I was here. Mission accomplished. Now I could relax and enjoy the rest of my day.

Determined to shake off my rocky start, I straightened up, shook the remaining raindrops from my hair (careful  not to spray my new friend, the doorman, in the process), and wiped my face dry. I would worry about my shoes later, I thought, as I felt my toes sloshing around. I looked around the grand lobby of the Bellevue. A huge expanse of marble floor stretched before me, bustling with people and activity. Looking up, I took in the height of the atrium, flanked on all sides with upscale stores. Now comes the fun part. Shopping. Retail therapy was definitely in order.

I began to make my way to the ornate staircase at the far end of the lobby. Not four steps into it … it happened.  Time suddenly shifted into slow-motion as I felt one of my 4" heels slip on water on the marble floor … water that had traitorously  dripped from my own umbrella. My arms made a crazy backstroke motion in the air as I tried valiantly to maintain some sense of balance.  My left leg flew out in a grotesque split as I watched in a dazed, detached curiosity, as if it was happening to someone else. I crashed down onto my right knee-cap, hard. So hard it would ache for months afterward; the impact actually bruised the bone.  My body pitched forward as I landed on my belly. My arms flew out before me and the umbrella clattered noisily on the floor, the impact now amplified in the suddenly quiet atrium, drawing attention to my awkward gymnastics. Time switched yet again from slow-motion to a dead stop as I realized I was lying … literally belly-flopping … on the floor of the Bellevue.

No … the ground did not swallow me up, as I was wishing  it would. Why do sinkholes never happen where and when you want them to?

Time remained at a standstill as my eyes swept the lobby. It was suddenly, impossibly empty … I was the sole attraction. From my position on the floor, I scanned the upper levels of the atrium and staircase … all conversation, all activity stopped as everyone's eyes were now on me … still belly-flopping. No one stepped forward to help me. I heard a business man chuckle on one of the upper levels. The attendant at the Information Desk remained seated as he casually leaned forward to ask, seemingly unconcerned, if I was alright. I looked back toward the lobby … where was my friend, the doorman?? He was no where to be seen … probably helping some other woman in out of the rain. Bastard.

My face burned with hot shame as I tried to gracefully hoist myself up off the floor. My umbrella lay several feet from where I landed, and I limped over to retrieve it, my right shoe having landed somewhere else entirely. It took another minute (hour!) to find it. With both shoes now on, and with as much dignity as I could muster, I got up and took a few tentative steps, having lost all confidence in my ability to walk in public. Oh, yeah … and if I remembered correctly, I didn't have a stellar track record for driving so well over the past two days, either. Note to self: all forms of self-locomotion will be suspended until further notice.

Feeling like I was enveloped in a cloak of shame and embarrassment, I somehow made my way up the staircase as I abandoned my plans to shop and head right to the luncheon. No … I wasn't hungry, I just needed, desperately, to sit down. Maybe I could get a glass of wine? But then I thought better of it … I didn't want the garage attendant to smell alcohol on my breath when I confronted him about the low-hanging pipes that damaged my car as I ripped him a new one.

The lunch was uneventful and woefully predictable … rubber chicken amidst a table of strangers I wouldn't know today if I fell over them, too. I did notice, however, that I was the only one with limp hair and damp clothing; no doubt my table-mates hogged all the indoor parking at the Bellevue. I managed to make pleasant chit-chat and eyed their glasses of wine enviously as I made plans for escape. I needed to get out of there. I needed to go home.

I needed a nap. 

I needed a hug.

I needed a good cry.

The rain and wind hadn't let up at all as I trudged my way down Broad Street back to the garage. I resigned myself to being uncomfortably damp until I got home. I was met with indifference when I confronted the garage attendant about the damaging pipes. In my panic, I didn't even think to take photos of the pipes making actual contact with the roof of my SUV, so there was nothing to "prove." Being married to an attorney, I should have known better. Oh, well … just add that to the growing list of stupid things I did that day. And, of course I was told, "No, Ma'm … that's never happened before." Yeah … right. 

Ironically enough, the day's storm clouds really did contain a silver lining. That was the dark and stormy March night I met my friend Andrea out for dinner when we were complimented on our shoes. The night the idea for Fabulous Shoe Night took seed, and slowly started to grow. Looking back, I guess it was a good day after all. No, not just good … pivotal. Fateful. Even life-changing.

As far as the Joan & David black patent leather pumps with the 4" heel that played a part in my belly-flopping … no, they haven't been on my feet since. And the Bellevue …? 

Um, no .. I have not been back.

I hate that place. 

The (Too) High Price of Fashion

Part 1: The Trip

I've relayed, several times in this blog, that I often feel wildly out of my comfort zones as I try to make something tangible out of the Fabulous Shoe Night concept, and, along the way, I've made mistakes. I try to think of those mistakes as learning curves, but sometimes they were just flat-out blunders … smack yourself in the head "Duh!" moments. God … I hate those. But they happen, and when they inevitably do, the only thing to do is pick yourself up, dust yourself off, and carry on … 

… while pretending that nothing actually happened … 

… hoping like hell that no one noticed.

One occasion when I had to literally pick myself up off the floor happened early this year … at a time when I was consciously trying to expand my comfort zones. I was invited to a luncheon in Philadelphia at the Bellevue Stafford Hotel, the grand dame of Broad Street, right near City Hall. I don't often drive into Philadelphia alone (Comfort Zone Expander #1), but I had a new SUV equipped with both OnStar and GPS, so how hard could it be, really? The luncheon fell on a day of monsoon-like weather; winds whipping around at 30 MPH gusts with sideways rain … not ideal driving weather (Comfort Zone Expander #2). And did I mention I was still shaken after my first fender bender with my new car just two days earlier (Comfort Zone Expander #3)? I … seemingly effortlessly! ... scraped the entire left rear panel of my SUV on my girlfriend's unyielding mailbox. Estimated damage to vehicle; $3000. Estimated damage to mailbox; $0.

While getting ready that morning, I gave myself plenty of time for weather delays. Lucky for me, I thought, as I slipped on my favorite Joan & David black patent leather pumps with the 4" heel, I can park right at the indoor garage at the Bellevue. What a convenience on a day like this!

I forgot that the Philadelphia Flower Show was in town, an annual week-long event bringing thousands of people to the city. You can see where this is going … right?

So, there I am, bravely soldiering on against sheets of rain and gale force winds, dodging huge rain puddles as I make my way down I-95, safely cocooned in my modern day tank, with the soothing, genteel voice of the GPS guiding my every turn. See … I knew I could do this. I find the Bellevue in record time. Actually, I have an entire hour to spare. Great, I think … I can go shoe shopping at the upscale shops at the Bellevue! I sigh contentedly. This is turning out to be a wonderful day. I never dreamed facing your comfort zones head-on could be this …well, easy!

I prepare to turn left into the parking garage when I see my first obstacle of the day: the red lighted "Lot Full" sign. Oooo … I wasn't counting on this. This is not good. That's okay! I think, cheerfully reminding myself that I am in comfort zone expansion mode … On to Plan B! I circle around City Hall in search of another indoor garage, only to be met with more "Lot Full" signs … for blocks. And blocks. Sigh. And blocks. The once soothing voice of the GPS is now telling me at increasingly annoying intervals to "Make a legal U-turn," … over and over. Irrationally, I answer, "I can't!! I CAN'T !!!"  … hoping this will somehow shut her up. It doesn't. She smugly admonishes me  repeatedly despite my whining pleas for her to just shut up. To silence her annoying, robotic smugness, I turn the GPS system completely off, knowing that now (deep, cleansing breath) I am truly on my own (Comfort Zone Expander #4). Yet I know I'm close to the hotel, so really … how hard can it be?

I drive in circles, growing panicky, as I search for an indoor lot. I'm also becoming annoyed … this has really cut in to my shopping time. I finally spot a garage with available parking and pull in, breathing a sigh of relief. The garage is a city high-rise, and I am literally growing dizzy as I circle up and up. I worry in my dizzying ascent that I may scrape the already battered side of the SUV on the narrow walls of the spiral lane, inwardly questioning my decision to buy one of the largest vehicles on the road. Floor L, Floor M, Floor N … yes! Finally! 

A huge, wide available spot that's perfect for my SUV on Floor O. I say a silent prayer of thanks and now can't help but feel a bit smug myself … I still have 40 minutes left to shop. I swiftly pull in, plenty of room on either side of me, when I hear it … that sickeningly familiar, stomach-dropping sound. The sound I had just heard two days earlier. A sound I was not ready to hear again … the long, drawn out, nightmare-inducing squeal of metal on metal … SCHREEEECH!! Palms sweating, I hold back tears as I back up … only to hear it again … SCHREEECH!!! The physiologic manifestations of sheer and utter panic rip through my body as I get out to find the source of that sound. I immediately see the culprit … horizontal overhead pipes hanging directly over my parking spot, with exposed bolts sticking out viciously like thorns. Was there a "Low Clearance" sign to be seen? No. Of course not. The pipes created deep gauges in the roof of my SUV, and actually moved the roof rack. In my panicked state, I didn't even think to take pictures with my iPhone … I just went in search of another parking spot, sobbing incoherently on the phone to my husband.

In the re-telling of this story many times since it happened, I was invariably asked, "Why didn't you just leave??" Sigh. Looking back … I'm not sure. I think I really was hell-bent on charging past some of the self-imposed restrictions of my comfort zones. Sometimes the act of busting out of your complacency takes nothing less than full audience participation. What good would running away do? No. I was there … I came all that way. Might as well go to the damn lunch. Panic makes me hungry anyway.

After finding what had to be the last remaining spot in the garage on the upper-most level, I brace myself to walk the 4 blocks to the Bellevue in the monsoon. I felt like Mary Poppins, arms outstretched overhead I desperately fought gusts of wind threatening to rip the umbrella out of my hands. Rain beat down on me, soaking my hair, face and clothes. At this point, I know I look a mess. And surely, my beautiful 4" Joan & David patent leather pumps will be ruined, but I fight the storm in search of one thing … shelter.

Finally, off in the distance, I see it like a beacon of light through the relentless wall of rain and wind I'm fighting … the warm, inviting lights, the muted opulence, the handsome doorman beckoning me, inviting me in. 

The entrance of the Bellevue.

(To be continued … )

Not a Good Fit

My beautiful 25 year old niece Madeleine was up from Florida for a visit recently. She shares my affinity for shoes (we're convinced it's genetic, as my maternal grandmother was also quite the shoe maven in her day), and, lucky for her, we're also the same size. What has become somewhat of a ritual of her visits is a trip to "Aunt Jen's Closet," … Madeleine's favorite place to "shop." It's actually mutually beneficial … she gets to go home with some fabulous new shoes, and I get the cathartic benefit of purging. (Actually, I think I get a double benefit … more room for new shoes!)

I watched Madeleine's reaction to her growing pile of loot with amusement. I must say … she made out quite well. A vintage pair of Frye boots that are amazing, but always hurt my feet too much to ever wear; a pair of strappy Cole Haan Nike Air sandals in a luscious nude suede, but I have more nude shoes than I'll ever need; rich garnet colored patent leather sling-backs in a retro 1940's look  … super-stylish, but easily the most uncomfortable pair of shoes I've ever owned; and a chocolate brown suede sandal with a 4" rope-covered wedge heel … spectacular, but just not worth the blisters they unfailingly produce. 

This latest "shopping expedition" has made me think about the concept of fit … and what makes a good fit, specifically. As any woman knows, that perfect, exquisite pair of pumps may feel great when we're walking around the shoe department, trying them on for size, but until you actually have them on your feet for several hours, you don't know just how they'll wear on your feet. And who among the ranks of shoe lovers doesn't have that perverse shrine in the back of their closet of one or two (and sometimes more) pairs of beautiful shoes that can only be admired from afar … because the band-aids required to get you through more than 20 minutes of wear simply ruins the overall aesthetic. 

After thinking about it, it became clear to me that some relationships can be a lot like ill-fitting shoes. That hard to deal with person you can only take in small doses; relationships fraught with tension; gossip lovers; people refusing to accept accountability for their actions; those who don't pull their weight, etc., are all examples of something that just doesn't fit in your life. Simply stated, friction creates blisters. Better to cheerfully pass such people along to someone who would be a better fit than to sport band-aids while waltzing through life in your Jimmy Choos. Life is waaay too short to deal with those who bring you down. After all, if we can't be comfortable in our own shoes … in our own skin … are we really being true to ourselves??

Fly-Fishing

Sometimes, you have to squeeze into your life what it is you love the most.

Being a stay-at-home Mom, my days are never the same, especially during the summer when my boys are home. As every mother knows, a house doesn't run itself … there are meals to be cooked, laundry done, children ferried here and there. Life, for everyone, is increasingly hectic. So I try to squeeze the creation and execution of Fabulous Shoe Night around my daily life … and around the busy lives and jobs of the advisory board. Between the varied tasks of raising three boys and running a household, I am  always thinking, thinking, thinking … my brain never seems to turn off. Getting FSN up and running so we can start helping people is never far from my mind. But as any mother knows, Mom-Brain has a way of kicking in when our brains are on overload, and despite our best intentions, things are forgotten. For me it happens more frequently than I care to admit. I always say, only half-kidding, "You'd be amazed at  just how much I'm capable of forgetting."  I'll be driving, or cooking, or in the middle of a million other things, barely aware of the ever-flowing river of ideas swirling just beneath the surface of conscious thought, when an idea will strike, seemingly out of nowhere. If I don't grab it, then and there, it gets swept up in the current … the rapid stream of thought of all the things I have yet to do, and rushes out of sight. Sigh.
Gone ….

During rare moments of quiet, if I still my mind, I can sometimes retrieve some of the ideas I thought swam away for good. I compare it to that fishing game for little kids, where a jumble of fish "swim" around an imaginary pond, and, if you time it just right, you can lower your rod and catch a moving fish with a magnet in place of a hook. I have "caught" a lot of ideas this way, in stillness and concentration, despite their elusive slipperiness.

As I try to squeeze in as much FSN work as I can among the small in-between spaces of such hectic busy-ness, I am thankful that these elusive ideas swimming in and out of my stream of consciousness are not actual fish, for more often than not, they need to be put on the proverbial shelf until the advisory board can get together to brainstorm. When this happens, I am reminded of Benjamin Franklin, who wisely said, " Fish and house guests smell after three days."  And as any busy mother knows, to prevent that from happening, I would have no choice but to fry them up for dinner. 

After all … I have three hungry boys to feed.

Stayin' Alive ... I Mean, Awake

I met with an attorney last week to discuss some of the emerging legal intricacies Fabulous Shoe Night has presented. By the end of our 90+ minutes together, I felt like my head had been put through a sausage maker. While I was on LSD. And Nyquil. At one point, I noticed my hands hurt, and looked down at them to figure out why.  I realized I was clutching the edges of the table, my knuckles white from pressure and exertion. It became clear to me that I was gripping the table in an effort to stay present, mentally.  To pay attention to something I didn't understand most of, and not tune out like I usually do when someone is discussing what I consider to be the mundane. I need to know, and understand, what is going on, yet I feel I am at a huge disadvantage. I am not a lawyer, nor did I go to business school. It is not a good feeling to realize that you understand approximately half of what someone is saying to you. Not a good feeling at all …

To make matters worse, I went home, and my (attorney) husband asked how the meeting went. I relayed all I could, which was not much. Clearly, the two lawyers will need to exchange emails or phone calls to bring him up to date. In the past, this was the point where I would mentally check out, and let someone else handle all the "boring stuff." It's so much easier to stay safely in the confines of your comfort zones … but this time, I vow not to. Pushing beyond self-imposed comfort zones is a little something we all need to experience, and it's called growth. It's not easy, it's not comfortable, and it is usually downright scary, but if we are ever to move forward …  in business, in life … it needs to be done.

So … it's time to put my (reading) glasses on, sharpen my pencil, hunker down and get to work … push past my comfort zones and learn something new, different, scary and, to me … boring. As I struggle to stay present and learn all this new, scary and boring stuff, I think of that famous quote about Ginger Rogers, doing everything Fred Astaire did, but backward … and in high heels. And then I think of the reaction some people have when they look down at my latest pair of fabulous, sky-high heels. Invariably, they ask,  "How on earth do you walk in those things??" My answer is always the same. Always. I smile, and say, "With attitude."