The Jeans That Wouldn't Let Me Go
It has quite the chokehold on me.
It feels like the never ending journey for most of us to find jeans thatÂ
a) Makes our butts look good (so not flat? Or what criteria are we basing this on?!)
b) Fits our waist perfectly but not too snug so you feel like you have to suck in your stomach after a hearty meal.
c) Is stretchy enough so when you want to sit cross legged on your ergonomic office chair while typing a very intense email responding to a high-maintenance client, you’re not distracted by how uncomfortable you are, and instead focus on how to write a rude response without actually sounding rude. Â
I found such holy grail jeans, and yet I couldn’t bring myself to wear them months after buying them. Not that I hated the way they felt on me, or the color wasn’t right.Â
Rather, the mere thought of wearing these gray wash jeans reminded me of one of the most chaotic times of my life.
In Chinese culture, when you are mourning the death of a loved one (at least until after their funeral, or so I’m told) you aren’t allowed to wear any colorful clothes. Wearing colors like red or yellow tends to signify joy or good fortune. Somber colors like gray, white and black are to reflect the state you’re in and the overall mood when someone is in mourning.Â
Those gray wash jeans? I needed them to anticipate mourning for my father. When I found out doctors predicted he had days to live, I was in a big hurry to gather enough supplies needed to quarantine and be in Canada so I could see him one last time and help handle his affairs. I live in Florida, so I needed clothes that would be warm enough for the colder weather up north.
Plus, most of the bottoms I own weren’t considered somber colors.
I wasn’t intending on buying jeans — I had visions of being uncomfortable in them. So to my surprise, I walked into a department store, and picked these up without trying them on, paid and walked out. Between the COVID-test I had to take, getting work admin done so I had the space to be there for my family felt more important than trying on jeans.Â
The bonus was that they fit like a glove, fitting all three criteria I considered holy grail jeans. As a vertically-challenged person, not having to hem jeans felt as impossible as one hundred dollar bills descending from the sky (or perfectly-baked cheesecake, take your pick).Â
I wore them for most of the month I was stuck in Canada. When I got back, the jeans went in my closet and I didn’t take them out for over six months.
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In hindsight, I don’t think I stopped wearing them because I didn’t like the way they looked on me (though to be fair, I am ashamed to say I don’t like the little imaginary belly pudge I see when I look in the mirror). I hated that I wore them during one of the toughest times in my life.Â
Arriving at this understanding didn’t come easy. Whenever I would declutter things around the house I ended up leaving the pair of jeans hanging in the closet, saying I’ll get to them later. Several weeks ago, I finally picked them out and forced myself to really look at them. Sure, I’ve worn them on and off in the few years since my dad’s passing, but is it time to let this pair of jeans go?
The immediate answer was no.Â
I have more than enough jeans in my closet, so much so that if I were to donate these gray wash jeans, I wouldn’t run out of clothes to wear.
However, as much as I hated the intense memories, I am also reminded of my resolve to prioritize what was important.Â
Moving money around so I could fly to another country to be with my dying father.
Providing emotional support to my mother and sister as we all go through an intense time.
Sorting out work and clearing my schedule within days after Christmas so I had the space to prepare for the unknown.
These jeans aren't just an item of clothing. They’re a reminder of how I’ve changed and made more room for what matters.
I still can’t bring myself to wear the jeans more often than I’d like. But when I do, I close my eyes, picture myself sitting in my mom’s basement while in quarantine all those years ago, and breathe a sigh of relief.
I am here. I am fine.Â
And damn, my butt looks good.
Grief is such a funny thing isn't it, I just wrote about it! But yes, we must not forget about how we have done the best we could at the given time and circumstances. May your dad live on in your memory and through you.