Charming Falls Apart

by Angela Terry

  To my discouragement, this book appears to ask more questions rather than supply me with answers. The book states that just because you’re good at something, if you’re not interested in it, what’s the point? It encourages readers to explore and find their passions, which to me has always been annoying advice—even if I had an avid interest in something, it doesn’t automatically translate into paying the bills. Also, right now the only thing I like doing is watching mindless television, and I have a feeling that Bravo binges aren’t considered one’s life purpose.

  To help someone like me figure out their passion, the book asks a series of questions such as: What attracted you to your current job? What do you like about your job? What don’t you like? What do people tell you you’re good at? What do you do in your free time as opposed to the nine-to-five? If you’re still at a loss, then make a list of what you liked to do as a child! What did you dream your life would look like?

  What did I dream my life would look like? Let’s see. When I was six, I guess I dreamed it would look like a Barbie dream house. I laugh to myself because with my blond highlights, semi-designer wardrobe, and my nice little condo in the Gold Coast, I sort of went that route, though there’s a lot less pink. As for what I liked to do as a child? I liked to make friendship bracelets with my friends and throw slumber parties. Does this mean I should chuck it all and become a jewelry designer? Or turn my awesome slumber party throwing skills into becoming an event planner? I also really wanted a pet rabbit, but my mother said they were too destructive. Should I now become a rabbit breeder to fulfill this unmet childhood desire? Somehow I don’t think finding my life’s purpose is to look back on my childhood. I mean, it’s easy for someone who’s creative and has an obvious talent like art or music or writing, but what about the rest of us?

  I must have a defeated look on my face because when Eric walks by to clear a mug and plate off a vacated table, he says, “Not liking the book?”

  I scrunch up my nose. “I don’t know. It’s good advice, I guess. But maybe I’m not in a contemplative mood or something.” Then without meaning to, a yawn overtakes me before I can say anything else.

  “Or maybe you’re not caffeinated enough?” He smirks.

  “Ha! Yeah, I didn’t sleep well last night. But I should pass on more coffee—otherwise I won’t sleep tonight either.”

  “Sorry to hear that.” He cocks his head. “Maybe some tea? Decaf?”

  I shake my head. “No, thanks. I’ve occupied this seat for too long. I should probably get home and let a paying customer take it.”

  “Don’t worry about it. Stay as long as you like. It’s good for business to have a pretty woman sitting in here.” He shrugs a shoulder toward the window. “In fact, if you want to sit in the window there, a cup of tea is on the house.”

  “Ha. Thanks for the compliment, but I’m not quite sure what you’re trying to sell here.”

  He cringes a little at his own statement and says, “Umm … I suppose that did sound sort of sketchy. I just meant … ah … anyway. …”

  I laugh. “On that note, I guess it’s time for me to head out.”

  “Of course.” He laughs. “Sorry about that. Sometimes I put my foot in my mouth, and then I ramble. Like I’m going to do right now. So, yes, it’s probably best you leave. See you tomorrow.”

  It’s a statement and not a question. I can’t decide if that’s charming or presumptuous, but I nod anyway. “Have a good night,” I say.

  “You too.”

  As I leave, I vaguely feel him watching me, and I’m not quite sure how I feel about this or, again, if I’m reading into things now that I’m single. It was all probably innocent banter since I assume he still thinks I’m engaged.

  Oh my god, why am I caring about this? Am I that ready to couple up again? What is wrong with me? Didn’t I learn anything from that relationship book? Right now I need to focus on me and learn from past mistakes.

  ONCE HOME, THOUGH I’m tempted to see what’s on television, I instead take out my journal. All this introspection and hindsight is making me wonder: If I was stubborn enough to keep Neil even when he clearly wasn’t right for me, maybe I was also blind to the problems with my job—that is, I just kept doing what I thought I needed to do, but without any true insight or plan.

  With my pen poised above a blank page I ask myself, So what did I like about my job? Truth is that I never thought much about my job until I lost it. I thought about it, but more in a what-do-I-need-to-accomplish-today way. Maybe that’s the first insight. And so I start writing, I liked that my job had defined goals. I knew what to expect most days, and I knew that to succeed I needed to hit certain benchmarks. I also liked the people I worked with, which is why I never really felt the need to see what else was out there. Everyone was friendly and creative. There were the occasional backstabbers or toxic types, and at times I worked for some people who weren’t my favorites, but I eventually managed to navigate myself away from them and their projects.

  I also generally liked our clients, a mix of large corporations and start-ups, and all savvy about marketing, advertising, and public relations. Sure, there were sometimes last-minute changes to a file when it was due to a printer or a press release that I was just about to send out, or the annoying clients who never liked anything we presented to them and would go multiple rounds before settling on something they’d sign off on. Since the people pleaser in me liked making clients happy, in a weird way I would work extra hard to deliver for those difficult ones.

  Did I have a natural talent for the job? I guess I like people, I work hard, and I want to make everyone happy. These are probably the characteristics for a good employee in any job, but they don’t necessarily mean I have a natural affinity for public relations. My campaigns usually did well, and I rose through the ranks, but was I really a whiz? I don’t know.

  Then I got fired. Out of the blue. Clients supposedly saying they weren’t happy with my work. Then the rumor that I was losing accounts. I set down my pen for a moment to shake off these thoughts. Before focusing on the negative, I’m still trying to remember the positive.

  So what else did I like about my job? I liked my paycheck. Granted, a practical and not very insightful reason, but if I can’t be honest in a journal for my eyes only, then there’s no point to this exercise. I also liked getting dressed for work every day (one of the little things I took for granted now that I don’t have anyplace to go). I liked client praise and a job well done. My success at work was tied to my identity (or so I’m realizing), and I liked that I felt secure and settled—something I realize was a luxury now that I’m incredibly unsettled. None of these things, though, are particularly tied to the field of public relations.

  Instead, I try to think back to individual campaigns or projects I was excited about; and the ones that always spoke to my heart were the outreach programs that focused on kids. Our clients would sponsor golf outings to raise scholarship money or supply a school with books or computers. At the holidays, I set up a gift-giving drive at work for underprivileged children and suggested it to my clients, as well. My own interest in running meant that I always loved organizing a 5K run to raise money for a cause. Also, since I did a lot of volunteer type stuff during college with some of the larger organizations, such as United Way and Habitat for Humanity, and made contacts through that, it helped early on in my career when I wanted to organize corporate-sponsored charity events. I always found these types of projects much more satisfying to organize than figuring out the best way to introduce, say, a new line of soft drinks.

  Huh? This might be my first real insight into my career. Trouble is, I’m not sure exactly where to go with this. I look around my Gold Coast condo and then down at my DIY manicure, instantly missing my nail salon. I’m not sure I’m the nonprofit type, considering that the first thing I liked about my job was the paycheck. Granted there are some nonprofits that are pretty profitable, but they tend to be more professional organizations, like the American Bar
Association or American Dental Society, rather than a legal aid clinic or the causes I was trying to raise money for in the first place. I think about the people I worked with at these organizations who were very nice, but clearly their paychecks didn’t allow them a weekly blowout at Dry Bar. Does this make me superficial and materialistic? Probably.

  With that last insight, I put down my pen and close my journal. I need a break from this self-reflection business and turn on the television for some Bravo. I’ve earned the right today to unwind with people who are not only a bigger mess, but also more superficial and materialistic than I am.

  On Friday, Jordan meets me at the London House rooftop bar. Though I’m on a spending ban for clothes, cocktails and coffee get a free pass since they get me out of the house. I’m here early, as usual these days, ready for any excuse to leave my place; while Jordan bustles in late, also as usual.

  “Hello, hello.” She hugs me and apologizes. “Just a last-minute fire before I left.”

  “No worries. Did you extinguish it?”

  “More like kicked the can down the road. I’ll deal with it tomorrow. The other side is being unreasonable, but I’m not going to let them ruin my Friday night.” She picks up the drinks menu, scans it, and promptly orders the house cocktail.

  “So how’s your week been?” she asks.

  “Uneventful. Surprise, surprise.” Though I haven’t talked to her since my trip home last weekend, I’m not ready to relive my egg-freezing conversation with my mom. Also, if weddings aren’t really Jordan’s thing, even less so are babies.

  “Uneventful is fine,” she says. “I, personally, could use more uneventful in my life.”

  I can see her mind trying to make the shift from work troubles to enjoying her Friday night and decide to help her.

  “So, I’ve been taking your advice and doing some self-reflection,” I venture, and Jordan raises her eyebrows in interest. “This week I read a book about relationships and another on finding your dream job. And don’t laugh,” I warn, sheepishly lowering my voice. “But I’ve even been journaling.”

  Jordan laughs anyway.

  “Hey!” I protest.

  “Don’t worry.” She puts her hand on my arm and tries to stifle her giggles while she says seriously, “I’m laughing with you, not at you.” I’m not so sure and give her a dirty look while she continues, “You were always such a type A student. It just fits the mold.”

  I roll my eyes since Jordan was much more studious during college than I was—pot, kettle, black.

  “Yeah, well, sitting at home alone watching Bravo wasn’t getting me anywhere, and I felt I needed some outside help to organize my spinning thoughts. So I’ve been reading and thinking about what went wrong with Neil and work and what to do next.”

  “Wow! I’m impressed. That’s a lot.” In her best therapist voice, she asks, “And how is that going?”

  “It’s been insightful.” I bob my head as if it’s full of deep insights. I pause. “Truth be told … it’s also been a little ugly.”

  She frowns at me. “Sorry, my friend, but nothing about you is ugly.”

  “That’s kind of you to say, but there’s some harsh truths I probably need to face. Do you mind if I play neurotic best friend?”

  “Go for it.” Jordan makes a gesture as if to give me the floor.

  “So I know you said I lost a little of myself when I started dating Neil. But I’m wondering, how much did I change?” Jordan narrows her eyes at me as if she’s not sure of the scope of my question. “Or, phrased another way, what was I like before Neil versus after Neil?”

  “Hmmm. …” She taps her chin and looks thoughtful as she considers this. “I wouldn’t say you changed. But, sure, some things changed. How truthful do you want me to be here?” She peers at me carefully. “How fragile are we feeling?”

  “I have one strong drink in me, so I can handle the truth. But by the second drink I might be a little emotional. So it’s probably best to give it to me straight now.”

  “Fair enough.” She takes a deep breath. “When you started dating Neil, it was obvious that you wanted the long-term relationship, the eventual ring, kids, and that whole white-picket-fence suburban deal.” She makes a gagging gesture. “So, yes, everything became about Neil. Saying that, I can’t say that anything else about you ‘changed’ because you’ve always had the habit where once you start dating a guy you make him the center of your universe.”

  I cringe. While I sort of already knew that about myself, it doesn’t mean I like hearing it from someone else.

  “It’s okay,” she says. “I know all the advice out there says not to forget your friends when you have a new boyfriend, but we all do it anyway. And, frankly, during those blissful first few months when you’re still learning about each other and having sex like rabbits, we should be allowed to cocoon ourselves away from the rest of the world and enjoy it. But I have to say that you definitely take it further than that. Remember Kyle in college? Did you really have to go to every single one of his football games?” She drawls out this last question.

  “I was being a supportive girlfriend.”

  She looks up heavenward, and I can tell she’s not buying it. “Then did you also have to go to every single one of his frat parties? You didn’t even like those parties. You don’t even drink beer!” She points an accusing finger at me.

  “True, and so much for my being a supportive girlfriend. The first party I missed, he hooked up with another girl.” Ah, the memories.

  “Mm-hmm.” Jordan widens her eyes and nods to emphasize her point. “Kyle was a dirtbag. You centered your life around him, and he cheated on you anyway.”

  I nod sadly, recognizing the trend here. “But, hey, I invited you to all those games and parties. You were there too.”

  “I had no choice. If I wanted to spend time with you, I had to fit our friendship in around Kyle the Dirtbag’s activities. And looking back, I don’t believe Kyle attended any of my events.”

  “Wow. I suck. I’m sorry, Jor. Thank you for still being my friend.” I jump off my chair to envelop her in a hug.

  “Okay, okay, all is forgiven.” She pats my back briskly. “So what have we learned from this?”

  I sit back down on my chair and hold up my thumb as if I’m getting ready to make a list. “When dating someone new—don’t forget my friends.”

  “No, no. You already know that rule. We all learned that in high school.” She pokes me in the shoulder. “Rule number one is to make sure you’re fitting into each other’s lives rather than you just fitting into his. If you’re showing up for him, then he needs to also show up for you.”

  This sounds a lot like my new rule of not giving up who I am for a guy.

  “You’re right. And, anyway, what’s the point of all that investing if a guy is going to cheat on me anyway?” I motion the server for a second round. “I think we’re moving onto the ‘feeling sorry for myself’ portion of the evening.”

  “Oh, stop! This is empowering! You’re learning from your mistakes.” Jordan, a former psych major in college, is getting into this role of agony aunt. “So I would also add that the next time you start dating someone seriously, give the relationship some breathing room. Perhaps you would’ve discovered Kyle and Neil’s true cheating colors much earlier and moved onto better things before wasting so much time with those losers.” Her tone is bitter at the end, and I lean back a little in shock. She pats my arm reassuringly. “Sorry. I guess this is the portion of the evening where my true feelings come out. This is all very cathartic.”

  “No offense taken. You’re right about all of it.” I fiddle with the straw in my drink, moving around the ice cubes as I absorb all this insight. “Wow, I’ve never thought of myself as insecure, but I guess deep down I am.”

  “I don’t think it’s that. It’s more like you don’t want to fail or something. So you put everything into whatever it is you want and sometimes to the exclusion of other things.”

  “O-ka
y,” I say, slowly, though still thinking maybe it’s because I’m masking some sort of insecurity, but I’m willing to hear an alternative insight. “But it sounds like I’ve also been failing as a friend by putting the guy first. Sorry about that.”

  Jordan waves it away. “It’s fine. I’ve been guilty too. But like I said, it’s when the sex is that good, and you’ve always been understanding.” She winks and I laugh. “Anyway, moving on. So those are your relationship insights. What’s up on the career front?”

  “That’s just as grim. I’ve heard nada from the recruiters, but then I haven’t exactly contacted them either. After drinks with Suzy, I know what the rumor is and I know I should do something about it, but I’m also reconsidering my career. I can’t really say public relations was a career choice so much as it was my first job and I just never gave it much thought after that.”

  “And one you’re really good at,” Jordan adds.

  “Maybe. But if I was so good at it, I wouldn’t have gotten fired.”

  “Oh, come on. You know you were sabotaged. You just need to find out the who and the how.”

  “Right. And that’s still on my to-do list.” I sigh. “But in the meantime, I’m reading this career advice book. It even has quizzes.” I smile, trying to lighten the mood.

  “Quizzes? Do tell.”

  “Other than general questions of whether you’re happy or not at work—’cause let’s face it, you’re not happy if you’re reading this book—it asks you to think about what attracted you to your job in the first place, what do you look forward to when you go to work, etcetera.”

  “What did you come up with?”

  “I really liked the paycheck.”