Surely you have at least one of these people in your life: You know, the ones who seem to effortlessly and beautifully glide through life, whose face is perpetually unblemished, who escapes the daily grind unscathed, who never has visible underarm perspiration on her perfectly dry-cleaned silk sheath dress (probably because she has nothing about which to sweat).
You know what I mean? Do you have any of those in your life?
That’s how I picture Tory Burch’s exquisitely-wrapped-up life to be. If you looked up “Not a care in the world” in your Webster’s, I bet her name and pic would be there.
~ Tory Burch ~
I mean, she’s the type that, even when wearing an impossibly bright white shirt, her teeth look, impossibly, even whiter. Upon returning from her bi-monthly magnificent, exotic, faraway vacay — poof — there are no bills in her rather large and ornate mailbox; and she’s lost, not gained weight. Her brilliantly blue hydrangeas bloom big and plentifully — every. single. year.
And I just know she never has earwax, not even the beginning of a bunion, and nary a money worry. Morning breath? Bad hair day? Non-existent. She hasn’t a clue of what my definition of “cottage cheese and crepe paper” is. And she has the fat content of a head of lettuce.
I admit it: I sometimes get in the HER-grass-is-always-greener-on-the-other-side-of-the-fence mode. Which I guess is the mode I’m in right now. Because you can’t convince me that Tory Burch’s grass is way, way, way greener than mine.
Or so it seems…
I remember last year, when I was walking my Mia dog, a neighbor drove by. She stopped abruptly. “Oh my gosh, Jodie! You look like the picture of peace and contentment, like you haven’t a care in the world.”
Are you kidding me? I’m worried sick about my Mom, who is in the hospital; Chuck is flying into the active hurricane-wrought East Coast right now; Cassidy just got laid off from IC; Julia just got a $170 traffic ticket in Lexington; I have an expedited transcript to get out by 7:00 tomorrow morning; and Mia has (once again) defecated on the living room carpet.
That’s what I wanted to reply.
I thinly smiled and said, “Awwww, if you only knew. Looks are deceiving.”
Because they are.
Okay. So I Wikipedia’d Tory Burch. Yeah, it looks as though she has lead/is leading a charmed, perfect life. She gets to design, sell and wear pretty clothes, and shoes, and handbags, yada-yada-yada, etc., et al. Ad nauseum. She’s kind of the ‘It Girl’ of the entrepreneurial world. She gives back through her various foundations. She’s created employment for hundreds of people. She’s designed what appears to be a magnificent life for herself.
And from an outsider (that would be me, you, us!) looking in, she makes it all look soooo flippin’ easy.
But I know better. Because I’ve sleuthed/stalked her (and her designs) over the years. She’s a mom/daughter/ex-wife who has had her share of hangnails, hiccups, hurdles and heartaches along the way.
Just like we all have.
I love these words of wisdom from Plato:
“Be kind, for everyone you meet is fighting a battle.”
Even Tory Burch. For we all have our thang, our issues, our “hard place” going on, don’t we? And it’s how we deal with it all that ultimately defines us.
As for Tory’s pillow, I bet it’s as cushy as a cloud, luxuriously beautiful, with a gazillion-thread-count pillowcase.
Here’s to kindness, high thread counts and soft landings.