Practicing Imperfection

The day Anthony Bourdain killed himself I decided it was time to rewrite the narrative of my life. Anthony was a storyteller, and so am I. He shared his perspective of this big and beautiful world with my family through his food adventures, and seemed to own the narrative of a life well lived. But he had his demons, as we all do, and when he chose to end his time with us it shocked me. It shocked me enough to worry that if I did not change the trajectory of my own narrative, my story could end like his.

On that warm June morning in 2018, it had been almost two years since I’d reinvested myself in a search for monetized employment. I had heard the news of Anthony Bourdain’s suicide as I was getting ready for another day of searching for something that felt impossible to find. When my husband found me sobbing in my home office, he put down his bags. I am not, by disposition, a dramatic person. Rick sat quietly next to me as I told him how sad I was. How shamed I felt in my continual failure to hold down paid employment. How disappointed I still felt about losing what I had thought would be my “forever” job. How it still pained me that I’d lost that hard-fought election. He listened, but I couldn’t stop crying.

I felt like a failure.

I think my middle-aged woman anger stems from the sadness I felt that morning. It had obviously been growing in me for a while, but on that particular day I felt a darkness fill me as I was applying for yet another position that would ultimately either reject or simply ignore me. As most women know it is surprisingly easy for us to be silenced, and many of us sit quietly alone in the dark uncertainty.

I am a woman who held a dose of ambition, back in the day. I traveled the world and got an education and always assumed my place would be in the “real” world, like my father, and not in the world of domesticity like Mom.

I was wrong.

During the second semester of my third year of law school I realized I did not have indigestion during the weeks leading up to my mid-terms; I was pregnant. My husband and I were not planning on starting a family just as I was about to study for the bar, but sometimes life just happens. I like to say that Josh and I took the bar exam together, thus proving a woman’s uterus and brain can work simultaneously. But when my son arrived in this big and beautiful world, my world became transfixed on him. Despite my claims of equality and my rants against the constraints of domestic expectations, I became a person I never expected to be. A stay-at-home mom.

I have a strong and independent voice, as do many of my sisters in this world. But because of my gender and slight stature, my rants against inequality are often dismissed as being cute. My views are not cute; they are informed and my words are intentional. I’m one of those women who gets little credit but is always there to pick up the shit. I create order out of chaos even if no one in the real world believes my leadership skills deserve a salary.

We are an army, women like me, who’ve done what women have always done; raised our families, served our communities, kept the world organized. But we can do more, than the generations before, because we were given so much when we were younger. Yes, I am angry because I feel like the world does not need me and feeling obsolete at the age of fifty-four is not the way anyone in my generation ever expected to feel. I am a child of the 70’s, the generation that was taught by our feminist leaning mothers that we would not be defined by our bodies, but by our minds.

They were wrong.

Those grand predictions of a more equitable society have not come true for the majority of women in this world. So what was the purpose of the more equitable society our mothers were trying to build? They may not have known themselves, but I believe they hoped to deter the catastrophe of continuing the status quo and create a space for change. Change is not good or bad, it is simply inevitable. And our mothers’ purpose was to create that space to help me and my sisters believe we could be seen as leaders and change agents our worlds.

Sometimes predictions come true by default or luck or statistics, because no one can be wrong all the time. And there are in this world women in charge, but not enough and I continually wonder why. As these past two years have bonded angry women across this country I see all the women running so much of our world who are not getting credit. Although I couldn’t predict my anger it’s with me, every day. I suffer feelings of wasted potential, an educated mind stuck in a body that creates life and therefore had to choose between caring for that life or face an ever-uphill battle of being both a parent and a professional. My generation shifted the reality of what it means to be a human with a vagina, we had hoped things would be better for us than they were for our mothers. But I think maybe our lives were a little harder with a constant hum of disappointment and failure instilled in us from the rules of the different worlds we inhabit, no matter how good we are.

For many years I was the mom who stayed home and did all the things moms are supposed to do. During those years it felt like no matter what I did or how much I knew, my life would be defined by my uterus and not my education. It was, to be honest, frustrating.

I’m the kind of person who tries too hard, and sometimes my need for control and order undermines other valuable parts of this life. When Anthony Bourdain died, I gave up trying to control all the forces around me that were structured against me and allowed myself space to reflect on all I had rather than what I did not.

As a result of my abandonment of the quest to find monetized employment in an established industry, things changed in our family. One of which was our son moved back home after his first year at Berklee College of Music because we couldn’t afford for him to both get an education and live in Boston. And we rent out rooms to two Berklee music students, making me a landlady too. I also sew quilts, for family and friends, who want a special something for an anniversary or birthday. It’s not a lot of income, but it feels good knowing I can contribute to my family’s financial stability.

And during those days when I was searching for work and advocating on behalf of women like myself - educated and ambitious women who made a choice when they had children to prioritize parenting over profession- I also tried my hand at writing. Although I completed four short novels, I never convinced an agent any of my stories were good enough to publish.

I fail, a lot, but that’s because I’m not afraid to try. I’m familiar with the dark place, I lived there for many years and don’t want to go back there again. I have a life full of love and community and I know I am not a failure.

But I’m not wired to give into the vortex of uncertainty, and accepting failure requires a certain level of flexibility and willingness to transition. When I heard that Anthony Bourdain - a person who felt like a friend - had killed himself it broke something deep inside of me. On that morning, once I’d stopped crying and could recognized I was no longer sad but angry, I understood I had to stop judging myself because it didn’t matter if strangers couldn’t see my value. I had to embrace the uncertainty and stop apologizing for failing in a system that doesn’t seem to want me. I am good enough. That’s what Anthony pushed me to do, to see the futility of my fight against the system as a struggle for one. But I know that one person can create a space for positive change, so that’s what I’m focused on now.

The women of my generation are not perfect but we are more than good enough. We are working to make this world better for our children, both girls and boys, but we know our girls must be persistent, consistent and heard and we are giving them the space to be that way so they can see themselves as leaders and change agents.

I remain sorrowful that Anthony Bourdain chose to end his life, but I know that his untimely death changed me for the better. I’m not ashamed anymore about my perceived failures because when I stopped crying for Anthony I took the time to look at the life I’ve created. The narrative of my life is good. My children have given me beauty and music and without them my world would be devoid of so much color and joy. I’m not glad to have failed so often in the quest to feel needed in the “real” world, but I know that what I have is a life that adds value and that I’m getting more comfortable with practicing imperfection. And with my renewed quest to leave this world a better place with the skills and talents I do have, I am focused on empowering women-centric cannabis business by sharing their stories to create a better and more beautiful world.