I have found myself hurtling through November at warp speed, not so much in the form of running from place to place (although there is a lot of that) as in the form of running from role to role. I’ve suddenly found myself split between novel writer, marketer for my new bilingual children’s book “Mika the Picky Eater”, writing teacher, magazine freelancer, mother interviewing primary schools for Manika, mother trying to solve respiratory problems for poor little Avik, wife trying to support Suresh’s ever more demanding work schedule, and then all the other roles in between – friend, employer, cook, home finance manager. Oh and did I mention, sometimes I just try to be myself, no strings attached.
Make no mistake – I haven’t forgotten my soppy complaining in previous posts. I’m so happy with the busy-ness of it all. It appears that by putting myself out there as “writer” I have actually suddenly become one in Shanghai!
But I am overwhelmed by the speed in which my days have changed. My mental image of myself has not yet caught up. I still see myself as a little of a former banker and consultant, a lot of a mother and housewife, a lot as an “aspiring writer”, and not very much as an actual writer with students, and deadlines and events to attend. It is all happening so fast.
Enter insecurity - otherwise known in my world as the fault line where the future and fear line up to cause an earthquake, usually manifested in my world in the form of awkward, spontaneously stupid, self-centered blurts that mercilessly fly out of my mouth.
The first came out at Suresh’s company’s new office opening family party. Now, to appreciate what happened, you have to understand that Zegna is to men’s fashion what Vera Wang is to wedding dresses. The best of the best. Attendance, as the wife of the newest addition to Zegna’s Executive Team (yep, Suresh got promoted – go him!) required waxing, buffing, a short black dress, and some hair curling. I was proud of him, so I went in the mood to be noticed, to by my husband’s proud arm candy, to “represent.”
Well, I could’ve worn jeans for all the play my efforts got me. It was no fault of the sweet people at the company. It’s just I was what I sort of set out to be – a “tai tai” Executive’s wife except that as soon as I arrived, I realized that I fit in that role about as well as a frog fits in a men’s suit. I just wanted to jump out, declare myself a separate entity from the “recently promoted Suresh Dalai,” find some way to get someone to ask me about myself.
Instead, I stood in a corner next to my husband but still alone, sipping (okay, maybe drinking, quickly) champagne and staring at the live Jazz musicians (who, mercifully, kept smiling at me.) I glanced at the male models occasionally strutting around, feigned super busyness on my Iphone a few times, and ate two plates of food. I overheard conversations about Spring ’11, and watched men touch each other’s coat lapels in passing to determine the quality of their fabric. But in general, I stood unnoticed and long enough that I started to daydream about one of those models really being a closet New York cat caller, you know the ones who yell out while walking by, “Hey baby, you lookin’ hot,” in a way that makes you feel like you really are.
Instead, one of Suresh’s colleagues came over and said to me, “I hear you’re an aspiring writer.” Ah, if only he had said it at the beginning of the party, before I’d started to tremor with insignificance, and the semi-drunken worry that I would be forever known as “Suresh’s wife”.
“No, actually I am a writer. My first children’s book got published this week, and by the way, I used to be a banker at Goldman Sachs.” Read subtext (in my New York state of mind slang): “Aspiring what? And yo, I used to make some dough, you know. I ain’t stupid.” The guy walked away.
Blurt two, more like a general grouping of them. The launch of my children’s book has turned all of my friendships here on top of their heads. The book is less than $15, a true labor of love, and if I can say totally unobjectively – beautiful. We’ve already sold 50+ copies to strangers in a week and a half, and have gotten rave reviews. But for some reason, many of my friends here have chosen not to buy one. One even went so far to say she didn’t want one, which hurt my feelings immensely. Most others have just said nothing.
It is making me mean. To the one “friend” who said she didn’t want to buy one because her son is not a picky eater (so what?) but asked how the book is doing, I responded: “Well.” That ended that one.
To another who hadn’t bought a book yet, but kept saying she intended too, I simply wrote back, “No worries. Well, I think I’m going to have a very busy December, so see you next year.” Subtext, never again, unless you buy a book. She bought one.
To yet another non-buying friend, I simply said to her inquiry about how it’s going, ”Great, except my friends have sadly been really unsupportive.” She didn’t get the hint.
To the rest, I’ve suffered their silence. Individually, these have hurt in varying degrees. depending on the amount I feel I’ve invested in these friendships. But together, they have become a bit defeaning, and have made me want to change friends, my address, my house, my life. It is causing a bit of an emotional conflagration in my life, and in the end, I think the landscape will be burned to a crisp, waiting for new offshoots to grow. Very unsettling.
To the people who have been supportive, I feel myself panting behind them like a grateful little puppy. “Sure, I’ll watch your kids for four hours. I’d love to make you a hundred Christmas cookies. Yes, I’ll help you cook for thirty people for Thanksgiving.” My gratitude is sincere, but I just can’t tone it down enough for non-awkward levels of expression.
Blurt three. So in the midst of all of this, my retail rock star husband (seriously, no sarcasm intended) got invited to New York to give a talk, and then Milan to visit Zegna’s fabled clothing producing empire, leaving me alone with two kids, a jittery sense of being, and a stressed calendar.
I should’ve known it was only a matter of time before the insecurity manifested itself in an actual bodyquake. It has happened to me before at other critical junctures in my life. But with two kids under four, one of them being my relentless daughter, who has time to connect any of life’s dots. Or in my case, who has time to drink water?
So Day 5 (Friday) of Suresh eight day trip, the abdominal pain started. Saturday it got worse but I hosted a movie night party for Manika so there was no time to really notice. Sunday I wanted to see a doctor but had no one to watch the kids. Monday I could barely stand up but Manika wanted to go outside. So I pushed and pushed. I waited until Suresh got home, showered, waved him goodbye as he went to the office. But by 4pm, I simply had to go the hospital. I left my kids with my helper.
I started to cry in the cab all by myself. By the time I got there, the nurse had to come out and get me. Half an hour later, I was in pain spasms. Suresh was lost somewhere between work and trying to figure out how to help with the kids. Everyone else was in America, and in my current state of mind about my friends, I thought to call no one. I just cried, and cried. Then, as the spasms turned to chills and I started to really shake, I panicked. I grabbed the doctor by the wrist, and yelled to her, “Am I going to die? Because I hate my kids but whose going to take care of them?” The doctor (who delivered one of my children) stuck a needle in my bum, and mercifully knocked me out.
When I came to, she was laughing, I was laughing. The kidney stone had passed and it was if the whole thing never happened except that she kept reminding me that I thought I was going to die, and I kept remembering that my last words on earth could’ve been those above and Dear God, I certainly didn’t mean them the way they came out and that wasn’t really what I had in mind.
The next morning I sat down on my meditation mat and examined. I examined the pressures I’d recently been putting on myself to be the cheerleader wife, to make three organic healthy pureed baby food meals for my son each day, to never ever lose my temper on my daughter again, to be a life-changing teacher to my students, to market my children’s book to every book shelf in Shanghai, to finish my novel yesterday, and to always sounds smart and beautiful and accomplished. I was being near abusively demanding on myself, which was why I was feeling the same towards others. And instead of receiving the rewards of love, creativity and choice, I was secretly seething at my inability to mentally, physically and emotionally keep up. I was also seething at those who I felt were also holding me back.
So over the days that followed, I breathed. Once again (as in other posts), I hugged my cuddly son. I played in this weird “balloon room” space and let Manika bump them off my head. I talked to my husband instead of worrying about making his lunch, or whether his dry cleaning was finished or the house was perfect (my lack of worry showed, but oh well). I used the mental space to sit back and absorb the new experiences I’ve been having, and appreciate the promise of so many more in the horizon.
I finally “caught up” by stepping over insecurity and moving myself to new solid ground.
More importantly, I asked myself when will I really learn? When will I stop myself from going around in these circles, these ups and downs? When will I learn to just stay at this place, all the time? Of course, I can’t really know, but asking the question made “living in peace and acceptance” the goal above everything else.
The journey continues, but at least since then, my mouth has pretty much behaved itself.
