The Dress That Remembers: Pre-Performance Rituals and the Stories We Carry

Tonight, like so many nights before a keynote or workshop, sleep eludes me. My mind races through stories, timing, transitions—rehearsing the content I've crafted, the moments I'll share, the impact I hope to make. It's become my ritual, this midnight preparation dance. Even on nights when there's no stage waiting for me, I find myself practicing interview questions, as if my subconscious refuses to rest.

For tomorrow's event, I'm already visualizing how I'll wear my hair, which angle photographs best, all those details that feel simultaneously trivial and essential. But then something interesting happened, I remembered the dress I'm planning to wear. A Calvin Klein geometric print, discovered at TJ Maxx in Westlake Village eleven years ago.

That dress carries stories.

I bought it right before an event when I was an assistant principal in Calabasas. Back then, my date was someone from a notable private community who took me to Soho House and a backyard performance of Shakespeare's Twelfth Night. Those were different days—I had professional athletes' phone numbers saved in my phone, had met Aaron Rodgers, lived near Clay Matthews (shoutout to the Packer fans). I'd seen the chandelier from Phantom of the Opera from backstage, sat three rows from Dave Matthews during an intimate solo set, and yes, even got asked out by Nitro from American Gladiators.

Here's the thing I'll let you in on: I was completely unsure of who I was at 31 years old. Can you imagine? None of those connections were real relationships, pretty surface LA stuff, really. But who admits this? Who talks about the disconnect between external experiences and internal certainty?

All of this came flooding back because of a dress I bought eleven years ago that's shockingly still in style.

This isn't about bragging: it's about recognizing the journey. It's about looking at how far I've come and what I'm doing now. Those sleepless nights before speaking engagements aren't just about nerves; they're about preparation, dedication, and the evolution of someone who once felt lost despite being surrounded by impressive experiences.

The woman who bought that dress was searching. The woman wearing it tomorrow knows exactly why she's on that stage.

Sometimes our pre-performance rituals, whether it's rehearsing stories at midnight or remembering the clothes that witnessed our growth, serve as more than preparation. They're reminders of our journey, evidence of our persistence, proof that we kept going even when we didn't know where we were headed.

Left foot, right foot, keep going, you.

That geometric print dress isn't just fabric anymore. It's a timeline, a witness, a reminder that growth happens in the spaces between who we were and who we're becoming. And tomorrow, when I step onto that stage, I'll carry both versions of myself, the searching 31-year-old and the confident speaker, because both are part of the story worth sharing.

What items in your life serve as unexpected reminders of your growth? Sometimes the most powerful reflections come from the simplest triggers—a piece of clothing, a song, a photograph. Pay attention to these moments. They're often trying to tell you something important about how far you've traveled.