Becoming a woman wasn't something I looked forward to. Despite having read every Judy Blume book that existed, the thought of sprouting boobs and menstruation terrified me.
When the time came I was getting changed after gym class. I felt "the rush", and I panicked. I threw on the rest of my clothes and ran to my drama class.
About a fourth of the way into the class, right before we were to break into groups to practice a scene, I realized that I couldn't hold off any longer. I had to handle this--this new truth that I was hoping to hold off.
I approached my drama teacher, Mrs. Clooney, not sure of what I was going to say,
"Ummm, I think I just got my period," I said.
She looked at me like I'd just won the lottery.
"Congratulations!" she said. "Why don't you head on down to the nurse's office."
The feminine product I would receive was an albatross--the first of thousands to come over the course of my reproductive life. I wasn't excited or relieved to have made the transition so many of my friends had been anticipating excitedly for themselves. I was scared.
I wasn't fully aware of why I had dreaded this moment. Looking back I think I dreaded all that it implied; namely that I was meant for much headier endeavors, like being an adult, like motherhood. I anticipated choices that I would encounter that I could no longer say were never choices.
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We said goodbye to a well-regarded employee last week. He's decided to stretch his enterprising muscle and build a writing practice around his passion for everything related to food. His goodbye was as charming as his many hellos after weekends he spent cooking or experiencing food; he came to the office bearing homemade cannoli--an aunt's unorthodox recipe that just worked. I must confess, I will miss his treats.
He stopped in my office to say goodbye. And while he had no "job" to go to per se, I was excited for him. I recall my own decision six years ago to leave my office position to explore things that beckoned but were yet unclear--when my excitement overshadowed any fears I had about making a living or permanently denting my career. When you've veered too far from your real path, blowing up your current one isn't such a big deal. Leaving my job to start my own amorphous "thing" was no longer a choice but a forgone conclusion.
Still, I knew that anyone on this journey can't help but question himself. Even if he decided to come back to W2 employment, he would be forever changed. He would find it difficult to extract purpose out of jobs he didn't create. Anything that he hasn't generated himself won't be as worthy. He'll want to forever create the recipes, even if his job is to simply follow instructions and make the food.
"Congratulations!" I said, hoping I didn't sound too excited that he was leaving. Fact was, I was excited, for reasons he wouldn't yet understand.
It's so easy to congratulate someone from the other side, like a drama teacher who exclaims to an adolescent girl that she is entering the next, inevitable phase of her purpose. You, the young woman, know that this outcome is likely, yet there's bound to be moments, maybe even months or years, of struggle and false starts. Moments when you think this isn't for me, or that you must be going crazy. There's an intuitive understanding that purpose is in the making, but you fear how much material stuff and identity will have to be let go in the process.
Still, you really can't avoid the rush when it happens. Mrs. Clooney was onto something: You might as well celebrate.
