Life, Sharron style.

So what, indeed? What’s so special about February 18th? Well, nothing really. Yes, some historical events took place, some disasters occurred, people were born, people died, just another step in the journey of humankind. So why should February 18th mean anything to you? Because today is the first day of the rest of your life.

This is not news. In fact, the whole “first day” thing has been stated, embroidered, needle-pointed, stenciled and sewn into the fabric of our collective psyche. But here’s what is so important about it. It’s true. And it matters. We have X number of days behind us where, hopefully, we have learned something. We have Y number of days ahead of us where, hopefully, we will continue to enjoy the joy of learning and the privilege of giving back. We have A day right here, right now in which to set ourselves on the path we need to travel in order to enjoy those Y future days the way we really want to. And for those of us where X > Y and Y is unknown, we owe it to ourselves to get our ass on that path ASAP.

It’s a Saturday. Most folks begin a new habit on a Monday. It’s February. It’s not the end of the year, the beginning of a quarter. It’s the 18th. It’s not the first or last day of the month. There is nothing special about this day. Except that it is the only day you have right now. Every single day going forward will always be that only day but, because Y is unknown, you never know when you’re going to run out of them. Doesn’t that scare the crap out of you? Not in the “Oh no, I’m gonna die” way, but in the “Holy hell, I’m wasting time” way.  Because most of us get up in the morning, step into whatever role we are performing that day – business person, parent, friend, employee – and we just get to it. Do we give any thought to how what we do today is going to impact our Y in terms of length and quality? Speaking only for myself, I can honestly say that I regularly allow the busy-ness of life to override my almost pathological need to live a deliberate life.

“the world will not end if you take 30 minutes to yourself to simply think”

We can actually start making the changes we need to make right this very second. We can stop what we’re doing – yes you can; the world will not end if you take 30 minutes to yourself to simply think (comma Sharron) – and really evaluate whether what we are doing right now is sowing the seeds to reap the benefits we actually want to receive down the road.  And once we’ve done that, we don’t need to wait for year end, our birthday, pay day, or any other typical signpost of change. If you continue to allow the habits of the past to relentlessly overpower your today, then your future will indeed be exactly where you have always been. But will it be where you want to be?

If not, start today. Start on Saturday, February 18th. And you don’t have to wait for noon or 3pm or 6pm. Be fearless, decide to start changing your life at 1:18 or while eating dinner or standing in the checkout line. Change occurs within before it occurs without so it’s not like you’ll be standing in line in the grocery story and blurt out “Incontinence be damned! I AM going to join that Zumba class!” (Well, unless you want to clear the store.) It’s an internal shift that while subtle, is explosive in its power. And then going forward, February 18th will mean something if only to you. It will be the day you changed your life.

It’s easy to find bad news. Turn on the radio or television, power up the laptop or smart phone and we’re inundated with negative input. During this holiday season when we tend to focus on what’s really important – family (natural-born or otherwise), charity, peace – I’d like to share a positive story with you.

Regular readers know that my ex-husband and I are still very good friends. Twenty years of marriage and thirteen years of divorce has not frayed the strands of our connection and I’m grateful for that. Ace, as I like to call him since he’s a pilot, was adopted and has no siblings. He was born in Toronto and was adopted by a British couple who moved back to England until Ace was around 14 at which point they moved back to the Toronto area. Of course, this British couple later became my in-laws. Being adopted was always just part of who Ace was. He never felt any desire to search for his birth mother; he had loving parents and a stable home.

For whatever reason, he decided a few months back to look into his birth records. It seems that they’ve opened up the adoption registry in Canada and interested parties can now make inquiries. I don’t know whether it’s the “turning 50″ thing or what, but Ace decided what the hell, I’ll see if I can find her. He applied to the registry but wasn’t really expecting much to happen. Within a week he received a letter saying that his mother too had registered and she was looking for him. They wrote each other – the letters crossed in the mail – and then came a phone call. Last Wednesday, Ace loaded up his car with flowers and photo albums, and saw his birth mother for the first time in 52 years. Turns out she only lives 2 hours away.

Born in Saskatchewan, she was sent to the suburbs of Toronto to live with her older sister when her parents died. Audrey started dating Jim, she became pregnant, and they decided – it was 1959 after all – they weren’t ready for marriage and a family and so Audrey was sent to a home for unwed mothers until she gave birth. The baby was taken, Jim moved out west, and Audrey carried on.

Turns out that Audrey couldn’t have any more children after giving birth. Over the years she adopted two children with her first husband who eventually passed away. She remarried, and he too passed away recently. She sold their Florida condo, and decided to stay put in Ontario for the winter. And who should she hear from but the son she hadn’t seen for 52 years.

Ace spent Christmas Eve with our grown kids and me. Before opening presents, he told them he had a unique gift to give them, and proceeded to tell them about their new grandmother who can’t wait to meet them. He showed them photos of his mother and father from the 50’s. Ace looks just like his father. And so does our son. His whole life spent as an only child, Ace now has siblings and our kids have a new Aunt and Uncle. There are plans underway for a get-together to bring everyone together to get acquainted.

So in this season when some of us have much and some of us have little, this was a gentle reminder that it’s not about the stuff. It really is about the gift of love, the gift of family, the gift of opening our hearts to something – or someone – new and unexpected and wonderful.

From my – newly extended – family to yours, I wish you all the very best that life has to offer. Embrace, believe, enjoy.

Love,

Sharron

Me at a photo shoot circa 1980.

I had planned to write a post on this topic soon anyway, but with the recent cafuffle over Victoria’s Secret model Adriana Lima’s comments on her pre-show diet, it seems an appropriate time. As a former (absolutely-not-super) model, let me set the record straight about some stuff.

Models are naturally thin. Just as not everyone is an Albert Einstein or Michelangelo, not everyone is a Victoria’s Secret model. Models are naturally thin, and I was one of them. At 5′6″, I weighed 94 pounds when I found out I was pregnant at 26 years of age. I wasn’t sickly or starving myself to death. I was just born with the kind of metabolism that allowed me to eat whatever I wanted, whenever I wanted. I had a tiny frame, with literally no meat on my bones. At 9 months pregnant, I weighed 124 pounds. Two days after my daughter was born, I wore my denim mini skirt (it was 1988 after all) home from the hospital. It’s simply the way my body – and any model’s – is engineered.

Supermodels are  a Size 8. Many people are confused by this so here’s the explanation. Designers make their samples in a size 8. I know this because I have applied for human mannequin jobs and they require a size 8. Well THAT’S not uber-skinny, you think. It’s all about proportion. I am 5′6″. I am now a size 2 (although most of my life I’ve been a 00 or 0), I have a 28″ ribcage and my measurements are 33 – 25 – 33. Remember that top models are closer to 6′. So if you extrapolate my measurements onto someone a solid 6″ taller than I, their measurements increase proportionately to somewhere around 36 – 26 – 36 (ish). This is very thin for a glamazon who is 6′ tall.

Supermodels still have to work out. There is a big difference between thin and toned. You can be very thin but if you don’t tone your muscles, there is no definition. If you look at any of the Victoria’s Secret girls, they have defined abs and toned arms and legs. That’s not just from being naturally thin. That’s from hours at the gym. One can understand that several weeks before a very high profile show, even the most naturally thin girl may want to ramp up her efforts at the gym to optimize definition. The waif is out. Toned and healthy is in. And in my book, always will be.

I think it’s unfortunate that having a model’s body is viewed as the ultimate coup. We should all embrace what our special gifts are whether they be physical, emotional, spiritual, intellectual, practical, artistic. It’s so wonderful that we’re all different and have diverse gifts to bring to the table.  I understand that glamazons are a breed unto themselves – not many of us fit into that category. As are the Einsteins, Michelangelos, Lance Armstrongs, Dalai Lamas and Oprahs. We are not all made to be supermodels and we absolutely shouldn’t starve ourselves to emulate someone else’s particular gift. Yes, be healthy. Yes, respect your body and treat it well by eating properly and exercising. But above all, determine what your special gifts are and build on them. Be yourself. Everyone else is already taken.

So just who do I think I am anyway, to be spouting style advice? I have no formal design training. I don’t have my own Fashion Television show. I’m not Jeanne Beker or Stacy London. My modelling days ended 30 years ago. But I’ll tell you what I do have, and likely will have until my dying day: an unabashed, all-encompassing love of fashion. I LOVE it. And who were my first fashion icons? Betty and Veronica, of course.

Another love is reading and I spent much of my childhood pouring through today’s equivalent of pre-teen novels. But nothing beat a good Archie comic for a tantalizing glimpse into the teenage world. What struck me as more mesmerizing than whether Archie picked Betty or Veronica, was what Betty and Veronica were wearing. Not only did the comic always – and still does – reflect the fashion of the times, but I was fascinated by how different they were. There was Veronica, all money-chic in her mini dresses and boots, and there was Betty, all girl-next-door, in her bell bottoms and fur or fringed vests. I loved how the artist took two exact body doubles but gave them different personalities through what they wore from their fashion to their hairstyles. Veronica with her glossy black mane, and Betty with her perky, practical ponytail.

Let’s go back even further. I received my first paper doll set when I was a young child. Upon punching out the doll and outfits, I can remember distinctly asking my mother for pencil crayons and white paper. Why? Because I figured I could do a better job at designing fashions then had come with the set. I drew bell bottoms with cut outs making them super-bell bottoms. I drew mini dresses with leopard prints and pirate sleeves. I had a ball.

Fast forward to the late 70’s/early 80’s when I began modelling. After taking some lessons at a local talent agency (yes, you actually have to learn how to walk a runway), I signed with the Eleanor Fulcher Agency in downtown Toronto. I spent about four years signed for various local modelling gigs. The photo in this post was one of my portfolio shots. We had a blast, the male model and I, cavorting in a pool rented for the shoot. I did runway, some print – I’m in some magazines in the early 80s – and some specialty jobs, such as live mannequin work in the window of Alan Cherry on Bloor (wearing a fur coat in August). I realized soon enough though that a) I wasn’t tall enough for the big shows and b) my face wasn’t symmetrical enough to make it desirable for print. While I left the business to pursue other avenues, my love of fashion never waned.

I have studied it, critiqued it, but never stopped loving it. What is fashion made up of? It’s more than an outfit. It’s weight, structure, balance, silhouette, mood, texture. It’s all beautiful, whether it’s  angles and corners a la Calvin Klein, the ultra femininity of Chanel, or the crisp, cool lines of Ralph Lauren.

So while I may not possess a certificate or diploma, this has been my lifelong study. Many women struggle with fashion and I hope to be able to provide some layman-level information and maybe an inspiration or two.