The Armor of Love
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“Hey, are you Martha? I’m Heather, nice to meet you! You’re here for the working interview, right? Wanna go inside?”
That’s how I remember the beginning of my first real grown-up job interview. My soon-to-be new boss had waltzed up to my car in the parking lot while I was trying to calm my nerves and slapped her hand against the window. I was rattled, but soon soothed and then charmed by the perky woman with a score of ear piercings. This memory had stirred as I sat in an entirely different parking lot just yesterday. I couldn’t see much through the heavy curtain of rain around the car, so instead I reflected.
In just over a week, I’ll be twenty-nine. A miniature of myself at twenty-one comes into focus, and I observe and compare. I’ve come to think of myself as a hurricane, picking up strength and speed as I get older; I’m incredibly proud of the things I’ve accomplished, and I’m more than a little obsessed with my dazzling good looks. I’m much more assured and confident than I could have imagined, and my self love only serves to frenzy the storm I’ve become. This helps quite a bit with my job. In healthcare, striding around like you own the place and you couldn’t possibly be bothered by anything is the goal. Any sign of weakness could be interpreted as incompetence, and the last thing a patient wants is someone who doesn’t know what they’re doing. I have a buffet of experience at my back, and I pride myself on the trust and rapport I’ve built with my doctors and my patients.
A successful interview will throw a good chunk of my career out the window. Patient care doesn’t change; I’m always trying to educate, empower, and empathize. The clinical aspect, however, is like trying to bake macarons when all you have is a recipe for scrambled eggs. Exams that I could do in my sleep will be gone, and I’ll have to learn new equipment, new people, new commute, new everything. Anxiety sets in, what-ifs fluttering in my mind and knitting my brows together. I know that my current position is burning me out, but the fear of the unknown is strong. I take a deep breath and examine my armor.
First, my engagement ring. A symbol of love, a promise of trust. My fiancé Ethan picked it out all on his own, and it couldn’t be more perfect. The Mexican beach where he proposed came into my mind, chilly February waves frothing and reaching for our toes. This ring was a commitment that no matter if money got tight, or if I got overwhelmed, no matter the obstacle, Ethan would keep a hold of my hand and never let go. If I didn’t get the job, he would be there to make my favorite dinner and help me identify what goals I wanted to plan out, to make sure the next job was in the bag. And if I did? He would be there with arms wide open, ready to spin me in a congratulatory hug.
Next, my bracelet. An amethyst beaded bracelet with a brass toned pendant inscribed with “Positive Mind Positive Vibes Positive Life”. A recent gift from my mother during her visit to find my wedding gown, it made me think of her go-to advice, “What’s the worst case scenario?” My mother has always been a realist, even if it was a little hurtful. I’d like to think I inherited it from her, and it helps save a lot of time. Worst case scenario today? I’m still gainfully employed, just not somewhere very fun. Unfortunately, I also got her tendency to look at the glass half empty. The bracelet was a literal reminder of the words from Richard Carlson’s “Don’t Sweat the Small Stuff”:
Unhappiness doesn’t and can’t exist on its own…There is nothing to hold your negative feelings in place other than your own thinking.
Also from my mother, a delicate necklace with a blue glass pendant from Avon. She loves to remind me that it’s just Avon, and that it’s thirty years old (probably forty at this point). She had owned it for ages but never worn it due to it being too petite to fit on normal chains. Since I had pilfered it about five years ago, it has become my go to necklace. It may be small, but the weight of my mother’s love and joy sits in this little stone and brings warmth to my chest. Seeing it in pictures of my first date with Ethan, the first day of a new job, feels like a visible token of her caring. My mother is so kind, so intelligent, and so absolutely gracious. Most days I can hardly wake up in time to make it to work; this is a woman who baked one hundred cupcakes and delivered them for my one hundredth day of school. While working a full time job and mothering three other little ones.
The love of others protects as well. Earrings from my almost mother-in-law, a woman who has a poised strength and refinement that belies her fierce tenacity. Lip gloss from a dear old friend, a young woman named Jessie. She’s whip smart, unbelievably generous, and has hair that would make Samson look pathetic. Her determination and courage are unmatched, and I’m certain she could move mountains should she wish. My dress is permanently borrowed from a sister, as are my boots. I can feel the presence of the other sisters in my eyeliner, in the arch of my brows, skills learned from them and perfected over the years. My father’s green eyes have been passed on to me, along with his easy wit and Southern charm that makes most everyone my friend, whether I’ve known them from grade school or the Wal-mart check out line. Every bit of me is cobbled together from every person I have ever admired, traits collected and quirks polished until the awkward has been transmuted into the stunning. Even my underwear is inspired. During x-ray school, a fellow student lost her drawstring scrub pants in a very unfortunate moment, and the mortification was visceral. My idol in school, a gorgeous blonde with nerves of steel, calmly mused that her secret was wearing her best lingerie on days she was feeling stressed. Then, you can strut in with confidence knowing that no matter the outcome, at least you’re still smokin’ hot.
It’s time to go in. I take stock of the armor I’ve crafted, protections against fears and jitters in the form of socially acceptable witchcraft. My outfit is imbued with positive feelings of love, bravery, humor, and strength. I am a hurricane, my self-confidence are gales of wind pushing me towards victory. Breath in, breath out, and I walk in like I own the place. Two hours later, and the word blossoming in my head now is “enamored”. Even though the rain is still pouring, it feels like I’m caught in a radiant sunbeam. Buoyed by the love of so many others, I sailed through the interview, and raced home to nap as celebration.
As I discussed all this with my darling Brit over coffee, she points out, what is a witch’s spell if not energy channeled with an object with intention? So much about our media and Christmas time tempts us with things that promise to make us happy, trendy, stylish. But just as buying expensive yoga gear doesn’t make me any more flexible, acquiring clout doesn’t make you loved. Dropping loads of cash on gifts doesn’t make you loved. Cherishing those around you, and communicating with them, smoothing over the growing pains of old relationships; this is what brings me love, and in turn helps me love myself. It may not be toadstools and newts, crystals or candles, but the magic of loving energy is much more powerful.
