What does it mean to be a real woman?
When I was five, my mom gave me a Joan Jett haircut that I assume was supposed to be edgy and cool. Instead, it made me feel like I had a mullet. My family refers to this time in my life as my “mullet years,” as if it was my choice to rock such an on-trend cut. All I wanted was to be feminine, like the girls I admired. The dainty girls with curls and braids. The girls with frilly dresses and those ankle socks with the lace on the top. My prized possession was a pair of shiny, black patent leather Mary Jane shoes that had a little bit of a heel and a shiny jewel emblazoned with the cartoon poodle from Oliver and Company. My other prized possession was a Byron Scott Lakers Starter Jacket. If I had any fashion sense, I would have worn them together—a high/low moment.
Even at a young age, I towered above the other girls. By 6th grade, I wore a size ten shoe and was permanently exiled to the back row for class picture day with all the boys. The only other girl my height was also named Sarah. Sarah V. was one of five Sarahs (B, N, M, V, and S) in class. Her height was helpful since she was a stellar Volleyball player. As hard as I tried, I was not making the cut. I was relegated to the “C” team until I stopped trying to be an athlete.
My thought process was this: I might as well be athletic if I had to be so tall and gangly. I didn’t feel like a real girl because I didn’t know how to do things like french braid my hair or do a cartwheel. Whenever I watched my friends do girly things, I felt like I was observing another culture. I used to spend hours flipping through National Geographic magazines at my grandparent’s house, and these girls at school were as foreign to me as the tribe in the Amazon on those glossy pages.
This might explain why I amassed an extensive costume jewelry collection. These sparkly, gaudy things signify—to me—that I am a girl. Never mind that I rarely wear these things. They collect dust on my dresser, and often other things get mixed in: change, dead batteries, old watch bands. Some of these things spark warm memories of a younger me, while others make me wrinkle up my nose at the thought that a particular trend was ever fashionable. None of them are worth anything.
I recently heard a podcast featuring a de-cluttering expert who answered listener questions and gave fabulous advice. The topic of inanimate objects holding memories came up often. The expert said that these things don’t have to hold power over you. They aren’t mystical dreamcatchers or chalices for our loved one’s spirits. They’re just stuff.
What’s more, I’ve been nagged lately by a conviction of stewardship. Fast fashion, costume jewelry, ordering my bridal veil off some iffy website for 20 bucks… these are decisions I am making at the expense of our earth’s resources (environmental, human, and otherwise). At what cost do I need to save money? Put another way, is the little bit I’m saving by choosing less sustainable choices worth the more significant, cumulative cost to the world? It’s a tough question to ask ourselves: is it worth it?
The older I get, the more likely I would choose to spend time in nature over wearing costume jewelry to Hurricanez. There are differing opinions among Christians about the role of humans in climate change, so I won’t go down that melting glacier of a rabbit hole right now. I will say, personally, that I believe as imperfect humans, we have made selfish, short-sighted decisions about what we value. We’re here for a good time, not a long time. But I would also like my great-great-great grandkids to have a good time. I would prefer they inherit a world where they can live to their fullest potential and feel God’s amazing creativity through being in unblemished nature. Saint Augustine said,
“Some people, in order to discover God, read books. But there is a great book: the very appearance of created things. Look above you! Look below you! Read it.”
The de-cluttering expert said we could keep SIX things out of a collection, so I headed to my pile to recruit my keepers. Here is a vintage necklace like a metal handkerchief, bought for me by my best friend on our first trip to Miami when we were 21. And here is a clasp bracelet shaped like a snake, complete with red jeweled eyes I bought at a flea market in Paris for a few euros. Here is another bracelet, woven of straw and fraying, a gift from a new friend I made in Cuba. It’s not hard to pick the six because they are the pieces that make me smile with a remembrance of adventures. No H&M or Target makes the cut. They’re heading to the donation bin, ready to bless the next girl.
Miami's warm, blue waters—swimming in the open ocean at midnight. The 30-mile bike ride through the tobacco fields in Cuba, stopping only for sandwiches and roadside beers and jumping in a pond to cool off. The welcome shade of a garden in Paris, reading a book on a blanket and chewing a baguette.
It was never about the jewelry. It was always about the experience… experiences made more beautiful by the wonder of God’s creation. I’d rather have a midnight swim than a necklace.
In the first chapter of Genesis, God tells Adam to have dominion over the earth and control it. I believe this type of control means keeping the planet in balance and harmony. I don’t think God commanded Adam (and therefore all of us) to control it in a “do what I say or else” way. The earth and everything on it belongs to Him, so as someone entrusted to watch over it, I will do what I can.
I can’t afford super-expensive jewelry at the moment, so I’ll have to work with what I’ve got. I’ll have to let my supernatural glow make up for the simplicity of my one good pair of earrings. Then, when the world tries to convince me that more jewelry will make me more of a woman, I’ll smile, remember the midnight swims and say, “nah, I’m good.”