THE ISOLATION JOURNALS - DAY 13 - LIFETIME OF YES
Today’s prompt:
I invite you to reflect on a new beginning that was meaningful for you. You might think about a literal beginning: new job, relationship, state of being (pre-child to parent, singledom to marriage). You might think about a new conviction, habit, or a crucial choice you made: when you decided to stop apologizing all the time, that summer you actually started meditating, or the day you stopped drinking. Tell the story of your new beginning. What did it make room for? Why was it important? How did your new beginning lead you to where you are today?
Lifetime of Yes
There used to be this Maybelline mascara commercial back in the 1980s. It featured two attractive young models – I believe they were supposed to be sisters – who proclaimed that they were “opposites, right down to our lashes.” (Cue: bold, smoky eye vs. tasteful, natural eye.)
The Maybelline sisters had centuries of literary role models to draw from. Elinor and Marianne (Sense and Sensibility). Meg and Jo (Little Women). Stella and Blanche (Streetcar Named Desire). Mary and Laura (the Little House books). The practical older sister living quietly (and somewhat judgmentally) in the shadow of her impetuous and much more fun younger sister.
And so it was in my family. I was the older, studious sister; the corporate lawyer and mother of two. She was the younger, glamorous sister; the New York City fashion editor with the Carrie Bradshaw bachelorette lifestyle.
“I’m going to Paris Fashion Week,” she informed me from her sleek Nokia cellphone. “They’re putting me up at the Four Seasons George V. Come join me. You can stay in my suite. All you need to do is pay for airfare.”
“Thanks, hon,” I said, jostling the fussy infant in my arms while packing the next day’s Ziplock of Cheerios for my preschooler. “But I’ve only got two weeks of vacation left at work, and I need to save those up for visiting my in-laws at Christmas.”
Years passed.
“I’m going to Milan,” she typed on her space-age Blackberry. “They’re giving me my own car and driver. Come join me. You can eat your weight in incredible pasta. All you need to do is pay for airfare.”
“Thanks, hon,” I said, wiping down the kitchen table after dinner while checking my kindergartener’s math homework for mistakes. “But I’ve got a hearing coming up in one of my cases, and I really can’t afford to let my clients down.”
Years passed.
“OK,” she said on my voicemail, “I already know what your answer is, but what the hell. I’m going to the shoe show in Las Vegas. Less than an hour flight from San Francisco. I’m staying at The Wynn, a new hotel right on the Strip. We’ll see a show. Go shopping. Get a massage. Think about it.”
My husband and kids were asleep. I looked at myself in the mirror. I was still bald from having just completed four months of chemotherapy. The color in my cheeks was starting to come back. The scars on my chest had finally finished healing.
Sure,” I wrote back. “I’ll meet you in Vegas.”
I don’t know who was more surprised – me or my sister – when we saw one another in The Wynn’s tropical garden lobby. But I do know we had so much fun that week-end that I signed up to meet her the following fall for Paris Fashion Week.
Imagine the most perfect week in Paris. Visiting the Louvre – check. Enjoying dinner at Le Grand Colbert (the bistro from Something’s Gotta Give) – check. Sitting second row center at the Valentino show across from Kanye West – check. Having your photo taken by the legendary New York Times photographer Bill Cunningham – check.
None of these things would have happened if I hadn’t said yes. And I wouldn’t have said yes if I hadn’t just come off the absolutely worst year of my life.
Shonda Rhimes, the brilliant creator of Grey’s Anatomy, Scandal, and How to Get Away with Murder, had a best-selling book a couple years ago called Year of Yes. I’ve read the book, and it’s awesome. But honestly, I think Shonda’s sold us all short.
A year of yes? Sure, that’s a good start.
But a lifetime of yes? That’s what it’s all about.