Lost

 

Friends, good morning from New York, where your good friend Sarah is crazy-busy planning a trip to South Africa and Belgium for a client while also working on a strategy for an FDA inspection and trying to figure out my place, if there is one, in the Kitchen.

 

I am tired, I am lost, and I have to try at it, every day, to keep going, and it’s taken everything out of me today. It is so hard, so so very hard, to do what I do, even though I love it. Today is kicking my ass as I try so hard to find my place here in New York, because just when I thought I had it figured out, I was wrong.  I haven't figured out a thing, and while I was busy thinking I was making a family of my own in that Kitchen and bringing happiness and joy to my new Friends there, I did not realize that I was not as welcome as I thought I was.  It is not easy being reminded that I do not yet have a place there, especially when I wanted so badly to have one and worked so hard with no pay to try to do that very thing.  I have to start again from the bottom, yet again, and it is going to take all I have inside to just keep putting one foot in front of the other to even smile today.  I am lost.  I cannot even think about it anymore, because it is just too much today.  Today I cannot give that world any more of me, until I regroup and find some more courage.

 

Today, as I think about heading back through Brussels, Belgium, my other home country, I thought about how difficult and sometimes lonely it is to be in New York on my own some days. It is not easy, even though there are moments of pure joy and fun.  It is hard to start again and build a circle of friends, to find my place here, but I am trying, really trying to do that.  It reminded me of how hard it was to set up a home in Brussels on my own, too.  You all see the happy stories, the adventures and the concerts and restaurants, but you do not see all the behind the scenes hard work I do every day, all day, all on my own, and how hard it was for me to get here, or what I sacrifice and give to try to do that.  I remembered this story and thought I would share it with you today.

 

 

 

Friends, let me confirm and assure you, as one trying-to-be-helpful (but actually an A-hole) American in Brussels pointed out, there is nothing cool about me.  I’m a nerd, a dork, a silly fool even, and I always have been.  It’s not going to change.  I dance around my kitchen often burning things, singing, “Arm Me with Harmony” as I get down with OPP on the iPod.  I say stupid things without thinking and dance in public places like metro stations while other people stand miserably staring ahead.  Sometimes I eat my ravioli with my fingers on the couch, despite having worked in the kitchen with two James Beard Award winning chefs.  In America I drive a Honda Accord coupe with a big ding in the back bumper to remind myself not to be jamming to “Now That We Found Love” as I back into a boat trailer.  But I am kind, and I am a good friend, and I think I am doing just fine.

 

But, I want to write a little note to that A-hole here in Brussels, because I’m pretty sure he reads my blog.  I can see he’s been checking out my LinkedIn profile on a regular basis and we’re part of some of the same expat groups and circles.

 

Dear A-hole, just because you are an American living in Brussels, this does not give you magical powers or make you any better than me you ignorant, arrogant, insecure ass.  But I’m getting ahead of myself.  Friends, let me tell you the story of my first and only date with Mike last year.

 

A friend thought that Mike and I might hit it off because he’s American, I’m American, we were both are working to set up some business here in Brussels, and we were both single.  Why not meet?  Worst case, we could become great friends and help each other out. He works in finance and had just taken a job as CFO for a big company.  We swapped some clever, flirty emails and agreed that he would pick me up at the Crowne Plaza Brussels Airport, where I was staying last year as I set up my Belgian business entity.  After months of preparation and many very long days of paperwork and navigation of international business law, I had just that day visited my new business office and gotten my Belgian business registered with the Belgian government (not an easy task, I promise you).  I hadn’t told anyone yet, but this was a very important milestone, and I danced around my hotel room to Gorillaz’ “Feels Good” as I got ready for dinner.

 

Mike announced via SMS (we call it SMS instead of texting here) that he drove a BMW SUV.  Of course he did.  (Big loss of points already, as you’re an idiot for owning an SUV in Brussels, but whatever.)  Traffic was bad, (it always was in Brussels), and Mike called me to tell me to get a taxi to the Konrad hotel, in a different suburb of Brussels, where he lived.  I knew it would cost about 35 Euros, and that was rude to do to a girl, especially last minute, but whatever.  It’s not like I planned to marry the guy, it was just dinner.  I took a cab, and he picked me up in the SUV. 

 

We went to a lovely Italian place.  I speak just a little Italian, (Si, per favore, Illo vorrei mangare quelcosa adesso,” (Yes, I would like to eat something now please) having been to Italy about a dozen times, and I ordered in Italian.  He tried to follow suit and mangled the language, using a ridiculous American-tv-Italian accent.  Our server was not amused, but I figured Mike was maybe nervous.  We ordered 3 courses, and Mike promptly launched into The Story of His Important East Coast Family, which lasted through antipasti, through pasta, and even extended itself through the entrée. 

 

I know how it is to be lonely in a new place, and I figured he just needed to talk to someone, so I listened and asked questions.  Oh!  His family was VERY important, and so was he.  OH he had gone to the Right Schools and his family knew the Right People which, he informed me, was the only way to be successful.  OH he was SO important that he had to SMS 8 times during dinner, reading me every text to and from his boss.  OH his television was so big and he had over 100 channels.  He told me how hard it would be for me, especially as a woman, in Brussels.  OH he was so important he did not ask me a single thing about my family, my story, or my life.  He knew nothing about me, and he clearly did not think that was important.  He did not know that I design clinical trials and work with surgeons every day or that I co-wrote part of the ISO European laws of research (see my name on page 7) because he never asked.  He did, however, spend a lot of time looking at my cleavage.  When I pulled my v-neck shirt a little more closed to signal him that my eyes were located a little higher, he became passive-aggressive.  “Sarah, what if I told you I really don’t like the color of your shirt.  I mean, it doesn’t really look good on you, and the color makes you kind of pale and stuff.”  I looked at him.

 

“Are you saying you don’t approve of my wardrobe choice?” I slowly asked, giving him a chance to realize he had been rude.  He didn’t get it.  That fool kept going, “Well, yeah, I mean, what is that, blue?  I mean, it’s not like it’s designer or anything.”  Ohhhh no.….here we go…..I could feel my little Sass Cobra waking up inside my chest, and I tried to distract it by ignoring Mike’s comment, wondering if he had a point to make or was socially disabled.

 

“It’s lilac,” I responded. “I’m here for two days of business paperwork, and you said we were going someplace casual.”

 

He literally said, “Whatever,” then proceeded to tell me I would never make it here in Brussels without knowing the Right People.  I gently laughed and tried to keep it light, saying, “Well, I’ve met you, right?”  He ignored me as he pulled a forkful of pasta from my plate (without asking) and asked if I had an MBA.  I told him I did not, and I said how excited I had been to design my own graduate program at the University of Minnesota.  He rolled his eyes as he said, “Minnesota” in a condescending tone.  He told me that I should have done an MBA instead of a master’s degree in cellular physiology and business management.  He compared our alma maters and announced that his were better schools.  I kept quiet, just listening, feeling Sass Cobra coiling and uncoiling inside of me as I tried to calm it down. 

 

Mike was rude to the server, literally snapping his fingers in the air.  I was mortified.  In my world, you treat chefs and servers with love.  I shot a look of apology to the server who nodded his understanding to me over Mike’s shoulder.  Sass Cobra started to move its head side to side inside me, getting into position, and I had to bite my lip and cross my legs just to stop Sass Cobra from saying the sharp words circling in my head.  We could just get the check and be on our way, and I could forget about Mike and never see him again, but no, he then insisted on coffee and dessert.  Sigh.  Fine.

 

Coffee came, and I thanked our server “Grazie mille,” for bringing sugar and milk.  I was 2/3 done when Mike finally asked, “So, Sarah, what are you doing in Belgium anyway?”  At this point, I could not hold Sass Cobra back any longer.  My mother has always told me, “Sarah, it is not your job to teach people lessons,” to which I reply to her, “But Mom, sometimes I’m just so good at that I think it might be one of my purposes in life.”  Mom always looks down and purses her lips as she shakes her head, “No.”  She’s much more polite than I am.  Perhaps I was switched at birth, I’m not sure.  I do know that it’s a terrible, terrible fault that gets me into trouble sometimes, but one of these days, my Sass Cobra will publicly shame someone on your behalf, and then you might thank me and we’ll laugh about it over beers later.

 

Mike started checking text messages, and asked me again, “What’s your story, anyway?” mocking my story even though he didn’t even know what it was.  I started to tell him the abridged version of the Story of Sarah.  I told him how I had grown up in a trailer park for 5 years as my parents worked really hard to finish college and raise money for dad to go to law school and that we had ministers and farmers in our family tree.  He interrupted, “Wait, you lived in a trailer park?  With farmers?  That is so not cool.”  I kept steady, as Sass Cobra started pulling back inside me and was getting ready to come out and strike. 

 

“Yeah,” I told him, “And I worked my tail off to be valedictorian in high school to make sure I had scholarships for grades.  I worked three jobs in college and paid for it myself by washing floors and also getting classical piano scholarships.”  He rolled his eyes.  That was the final straw.  I had come to the delicious place of knowing the time had come.  I could almost see the gate of Sass Cobra’s pen opening and see him come slithering out.

 

Mike asked one more question as the server brought the bill, “So, what, you’re a pianist?”  He was such an idiot that I knew I had to speak slowly.  I carefully, intentionally took the last sip of my coffee and gently set the cup on the saucer.  “Mike,” I started, “You’re the CFO of a big company, right, and that’s a super important job.”  He nodded enthusiastically, all puffed up with pride, “Yeah, I’m responsible for all the finances of the entire company.”  I looked down at my plate, feeling Sass Cobra coiling.  Steady….

 

“Do you know what I do?” I asked him.  He was looking around the restaurant, clearly not caring what I would say, spinning his Blackberry in his hand.  He responded with a quick, “No.”  I heard Sass Cobra start to quietly let out a sharp hiss.

 

I looked at my coffee cup, then looked him right in the eyes as I slowly, quietly and firmly told him, “Well, Mike, as of today….as a matter of fact, literally as of today, I am…well, actually, I am the CEO of a…multinational corporation.”  I let that statement sit in the air between us for a minute, knowing that Sass Cobra bites take a minute for the venom of shaming to sink in.  He glared at me and his jaw opened in disbelief.  Sass Cobra must have started coiling around Mike’s neck, squeezing him, as his face got very red. I kept going, because once Sass Cobra comes out, you can’t put him back inside.  He needs to be released.  I heard myself say to Mike,

 

“I haven’t told anyone that news yet, and it feels pretty good to say out loud, I have to tell you,” I went on, for the first time finally allowing myself to feel a little proud of what I had just accomplished with my little business.  Mike stopped spinning his phone and sat back in his chair, shocked. He had pegged this girl all wrong, and he was about to be schooled, thanks to Sass Cobra.

 

“Now let’s see, you’re a CFO, and I’m a CEO,” I quietly stated, “I do believe that my title is higher than yours, if I am not mistaken, and that you would actually have to report to me?”  I asked with wide Bambi eyes.  He was so pissed.  But Sass Cobra had only taken one bite, and my Sass Cobra usually takes two.  Sass Cobra went for the jugular….

 

“It seems to me that this Minnesota girl who grew up in a trailer park and washed floors to pay for college and didn’t have the Right Family or Friends got to Brussels just like you did, except that I managed to have a higher title and do it all by myself.” 

 

Oh yes, my friends.  Do not ever try to shame me or my family for where we came from because I will make sure you feel like a eunuch by the time Sass Cobra is done with you.  I have sacrificed so much, I have given up so much, and I am so very NOT cool, but I have earned my spot by working very, very hard and with the help of many kind people along the way.  I do not tolerate bullies.  I will not accept being talked down to.  I am no longer the Doormat I once was.

 

The check came, as silence fell over our table.  He had the nerve to try to bring his own Sass Cobra to the table, but it was limp.  “So, big shot, why don’t you get the check then, Miss CEO?” he spat out.  I took the last bite of dessert as I put half the bill’s worth of Euros on the table and replied, “Oh, honey, that’s not how this works.  You’re on your own.  I’m writing off my time here tonight as a business expense, and once you pay your half of the check, you’ll give me a ride back to my hotel, even if we are only 2 minutes from your apartment.  I don’t want to date you, and I don’t like how you talked to me, but you will not make a lady stand on a corner waiting for another taxi.  And I, my friend, despite what you think or say to me, am not very cool, but I am a lady and you will treat me like one.”

 

He was so angry, but he did give me a ride back to my hotel.  Still, Sass Cobra had one more trick up his sleeve.  On the way to the hotel one of Mike’s headlights went out, and on BMW SUVs these are very expensive to repair.  He cursed out loud about it. 

 

When we got to the hotel, I thanked him for the ride, said goodnight, and had almost shut the SUV door, but not before Sass Cobra opened it up again to say his own little Goodnight to Mike.  All that Sass Cobra said was one word, but one strong word that left a little mark.   I heard Sass Cobra whisper, “Karma,” as I closed the door and turned to go inside the hotel with my head high.  I had packing to do so that I could go home to my wonderful family in Minnesota the next day and share the good news about my business, and no A-hole would ever take that away from me.

 

 

Friends, I hope you have a good day and have a moment to appreciate your own paths, because they were just as hard as mine, but it is so nice to look back and say, “I did it.”  I am looking forward to that moment here in New York, as I struggle today trying to find my place and look forward to just….being…home again soon.  I hope I can.   I hope I find my place here and am able to make a little circle of people who know just how hard I try, just how hard I work, just how much I care, just how much I give, and that they do not take any of that kindness for granted, like this guy did in Belgium, until I re-found my courage no matter what he said to me. 

 

Until then, I am going to keep my head down, until I can go home and just be…hugged by the people who know and love me best because I am having a really tough day.  These are the moments I have to remember I can do it, I will do it, and so I looked back on this story to try to find that again, that voice, that force inside me, that courage, because today I am a bit lost, a bit disoriented and sad, and I need your help to remember just who I am and just what I can do, because right now I don’t remember any more, why I am here or why I think I can pull this little dream of mine off, in a world where I do not quite belong, but I hope I will, and soon. 

 

With lots of love from New York, soon to be Minneapolis,

Your Good Friend Sarah and her Sass Cobra, too