Working it Without the Wig

Let me expound upon ideas (expressed in other venues) about my motto for this Fall Quarter:

"I may be caught without my wig, but I'm working it"  

This brilliant phrase comes from my English professor explaining the infamous Earl of Essex/ Elizabeth I debacle.  

We're all familiar with Good Queen Bess: the Virgin Queen, namesake of my home state of Virginia, and all-around kick-ass female monarch

She's not someone you want to mess with

Well, in the later years of her reign she included the young Earl of Essex into her circle of favorites. Yes, he was decades younger than her AND the stepson of her late favorite/ lover(?) / advisor Robert Dudley, but we're not going to pass judgment; that's what romance novels are for.

ANYWAY the young Essex was making some seriously poor decisions by challenging her left and right so she sent him to Ireland to deal with the rebellion there. He mostly loitered around, signed a truce with the Irish rebel without her consent, and then rode back to England where he stormed into Elizabeth's private chamber. According to legend, she was still in a nightgown without her glamorous wig.

Again, bad life choices

This is a woman who was accused of being vain and clinging to her pearls and ruffs. Then a man, who having threatened her before, appears in her bedchamber with a sword when she is at her most vulnerable.

Did she freak out?

Did she assume she was any less powerful without the trappings of royalty? 

Did she give in to the crazy rantings of a young egomaniac? 

No. Her Royal Majesty WORKED. IT. OUT.

and calmly listened to Essex in order to defuse the situation

(oh and later the Earl was executed for the teeeny tiny crime of leading an unsuccessful revolt)

I find this story particularly relevant to all of my loved ones dealing with cancer. In some ways, we've all been caught "unprepared" for this fight. No one can predict when this thunderbolt will come from the sky and, of course, it leaves many people quite literally deprived of their identity that comes in the form of hair.

As a caregiver, I am fortunate enough that nothing about my physical appearance would tell anyone that I'm coping with stress every day. But I feel that my metaphorical wig has been stripped off in my own fights against upstart rebels; mine take the guise of syllabus planning, endless emails from students, paper-writing, grading, grading, and oh... did I mention grading. Certainly, my capacity to deal with these minor obstacles has eroded over the last 10 months.

STILL!  I will not relent. I am taking an example from that tudor queen and keeping calm and composed. Even further, it's my personal goal to enjoy all of the incredible, happy memories I make every day.

Today, I am issuing a challenge to those people who have been feeling winter's darkness drag them into a mopey sullenness. Listen up everyone who has been tempted to explain grumpiness or impoliteness with the easy line: "I'm having a bad month!" I'm unifying the wigless and the wigged out!

Gather yourself together and work. it. out. 

No excuses. 

Together, we can rid the world any Earls of Essex who try to stop us. 

We're way more fabulous than they are anyway.

.Really? That facial hair?
 Another poor choice Robin!

P.S. I tried to think of a photo that represents my most literal "wigless" moment. It might have to the morning I woke up after a night of camping on the Great Wall of China. I had only grabbed a couple of hours of sleep (because mosquitos are loud) and I will admit that my companions had less-than-affectionately named our bathroom facilities "the buck" <-- short for the bucket. 

I was sweaty, achey, and having a very very bad hair day:

Can't imagine being much happier