Out of Season

It was fall when the concert took place. One of the young women playing a lovely violin piece was wearing a long, pale colored skirt, the length attractive for performing but the colors too light for the season. I’d grown up in New England with fall colors of pumpkin orange, moss green, and rich shades of brown. I imagined the young woman in these—although in late fall, India’s seasonal colors were of dying grasses amid primary-hued flowers. Realizing I was judging, I’d brought my attention back to the violin piece, still wanting to dress the violinist in stronger, darker qualities.

Winter came. Our nights were cold, but on occasion there were warmer days. I wore a wool jacket from Nepal one morning, a lightweight jacket the next, and a sweater, wishing it were bold, sky blue rather than pink.

As temperatures changed, and I was organizing my clothes, I stored a few winter things and took out what was for days heating up. A knee-length, sleeveless, bright pink dress made it into my clothes cabinet. One warm morning, feeling hot in my home, I looked at this dress, thinking it was out of season, but, rationalizing, decided to put it on anyway. Temperature-wise, I was comfortable, but when I joined the group for prayers, as I looked around, everyone was wearing mid to darker colors. I stood out like a cone of fat, pink, swirled, spun, sugar candy and realized the irony.

My realization is, “Truth can be found in simple words of every day speech; it does not have to come in a lecture or a book. ‘What goes around, comes around.’ If we are aware, we will recognize ourselves for what we have judged in others.”