Sunday, I went to a local art fair on a glorious, sun-kissed spring day.

Birds chirped, flowers bloomed. Laughter and snippets of cheerful conversation drifted upon the sweet, clear Midwestern air.

I floated around the festival wearing a brand new, flouncy, pink dress, the slight breeze swirling its pleated, Marilyn Monroe skirt as I walked. The sensation was magical!

At the fair, women went nuts over the dress, tossing out compliments. That dress is so pretty! You’re so elegant, that dress is gorgeous!

As I cruised down a row of white canvas tents, a middle-aged man wearing dad jeans and a lumpy, blue sweatshirt stopped, lurched towards me and steepled his fingers into a little tsk-tsk.

“Don’t you think you’re just a bit over-dressed?” he said, smirking. The three people with him stood suspended, waiting for my reaction. 

I thought, ah, there it is. Out of all the love, one person who simply can’t handle my ownership of myself. My pretty power. My assumption it’s perfectly OK to wear whatever I want on a beautiful Sunday. How dare I? Who do I think I am to represent in my full, feminine power?

Don’t be too full, too much, too dressed up. Blend in with everyone else, little lady.

The old me would have said, oh yea, I know, but I was at an event earlier. Like it was necessary for a grown woman to explain her sartorial choices to some stranger.

Instead, I side-stepped his pinched fingers, laughed, said, “never” and kept walking. Could I have said more? Sure, it would have been 100% appropriate. I chose to dismiss him instead.

That’s what I want for you. Be ready.  Prepared for the power of full self-possession.

Be proud, loves. Keep being you.