We had one thing in common, as far as I could tell. We were both mid-50’s, she already 55, and I approaching that strong number. New age bracket in races, on the uphill climb to 60, which sounds really pretty old to me. Like, time now more than ever to get things going on Chapter 3 of my life.
Kate Spade.
I’ve admired her from afar since the 1990’s. I’ve never been one to spend frivolously on stuff, like purses, unless I truly coveted one or two. In all honesty, I do have one. And so does my daughter, a gift from me to her.
To someone like me, who has watched her pennies and dollars most of her adult life, she lived the life I could only read about in Glamour magazine, or Vogue and other high fashion reads. Wow. What a life. Manhattan. The Met Gala. Park Avenue apartment, invited to every fashion show of every season. Sought after handbags of all fashion models. Whimsical, colorful, fashionable. And behind it all, the woman who started the empire in an apartment and built it to the sky.
She had it all.
But, apparently, it just wasn’t enough to sustain inner happiness, nor fill a void.
I’m no psychologist, and I will never understand the underworking demons which lead to suicide, the final decision.
I picture her apartment at this very moment: all of the high-priced furniture, the most likely filled to the rim closet full of designer clothing and shoes with red bottoms, boxes of hats and purses, many of her own and others lining the pristine shelves. The view of New York City, the phone by the bedside table ready to call a personal driver at any moment, the smell of fresh seafood wafting through the dining room, prepared just to taste by the personal chef. The daughter’ s bedroom, adorned and decorated to near perfection as any preteen dare to dream. The notebook with the meetings on the agenda, with high fashion houses, only the finest department stores clamoring to stock her new fall lineup of sparkle.
But then it all ended. Just like that.
I have been having a mid-life coming to terms of my own lately. No, not a crisis. I am not in crisis mode, just a re-evaluation mode as I peer at myself , the same eyes I’ve seen for years in the mirror, and dreaming of my next chapter to come. Have I done a good job? Have I run the good race? Have I been all God wanted me to be, or even what I wanted to be? I look deeper and know I wouldn’t change the fact I gave up a career to raise awesome kids and be a pretty good wife, but I have been lately in that state of “Now what?”
And when I enter this state, I look at people like Ms. Spade and think “Wow…she did it all. A glamourous career in an awesome place, and still with a husband and a child. Still knocking it out of the ballpark. Did I miss my chance? She’s got it all.”
And now…I’m wondering if maybe Kate Spade looked at somebody like me, in my comfortable home in a homey neighborhood with green lawns, filled with kids whose parents are all trying their best, shopping once in a while at Dillard’s and Nordstrom’s, weighing the benefits of the price tag before a decision is made to slide the VISA, and then going home to cook tacos before heading to the swim meet in and understated and now commercially available Lilly dress worn for the fourth or fifth time.
And, not quite suddenly, but little-by-little, it dawns on me that I have a pretty darn nice life.
She left a little sparkle wherever she went. Now I am going to use this moment to leave a little more sparkle wherever I go.
Rest In Peace, Kate Spade. Thank you for the ✨💥
jensumandthensome 