Another day, another train to London.

Monday saw London dressed in smart casual to talk to Third in Charge. It was pockmarked by a visit to the doctor and a promise of surgery in a few weeks time for the broken ligament in my hand. Apparently it's called a Trigger Finger, and mine is too far gone for cortisone shots. I am told it can be done under local anesthetic and with the use of a tourniquet, but while I am all things crunchy-granola I have my limits. Not interested. If you're going to approach me with a scalpel in your hand, please knock me out completely, thank you.

Yesterday it was London clad in a business suit and high heels, heels which I know scrape off the toenail polish on my big toes only, heels which I could wear in my sleep and which symbolically serve to help me look above it all, that there are 3 inches between me and whatever it is that would run under the arch of my foot. The business suit is my business standard, a black jacket that is no less than 5 years old and has been to almost as many countries as I have. I wore it all again because I had yet another day of being called in to show off the Rocket Riding Gerbil to that same group of people far more important (and aristocratic) than I will ever be.

Today it is dressed down in jeans and a floaty chocolate-colored shirt. My hair is scraped back off my face in a tight ponytail. My feet are hidden in pale brown flats, flats which make me feel every ridge of the earth beneath my feet, flats which hide the missing toenail polish chips that now make their tenancy on the inside of my black high heels.

Yesterday saw the biggest men in the company tapping me on the shoulder and asking me questions. Men talking to me and looking for answers, not knowing that the round-faced brunette they are talking to grew up on military bases and in homes she never owned, not knowing that of all the people in all the companies they've chosen the one who fell and, on falling, found out that she can bounce. One of them told me about his other home, a castle in Scotland, and I think of my little two-up two-down in my little cricket village and wish I was home in my pajamas with my feet propped up on the radiator and a cat on my lap. The only castle I will ever have is one made out of Lego. Yesterday was a success and a day of trying to be positive and confident, to remember my manager's plea (Please-for God's sake, whatever you do-please don't swear, Helen!), to show that I know what I am doing.

Today is back to being my kind of day. A full day of meetings with my team, to wrangle every last drop of what we can do out of our project plans. I'm going to buy them donuts for breakfast. Everyone needs a donut from time to time. Donuts make the world go round. Today is a day of jokes and relaxation with a team that lets me swear when I need it and gives me grief when I don't.

These two Helens are so opposite it's unreal. And yet neither of them is an act. Angus used to absolutely hate it when I would become someone else, when I would switch out of Helen and leap off a cliff, flying into someone more socially adept, more capable of handling the lion taming, heart-to-hearts, or the cut throat business arena. I could be the life of the party, or I could be the presenter of information, taking questions I couldn't answer and finding a way through them. I would shed a Helen skin like a snake and come out the other side adaptable to the desert, the water, the potting shed, whatever you need.

And now I've been through all of my skins. I don't become a different Helen for a different reason. And although occasionally I get to pop outside of myself and watch the act of Life, it doesn't mean I get to be someone else entirely. I'm stuck inside my skin and had to walk through the fire of finding out, often in layers of awkwardness and cloaked in embarrassment, how people should behave in a situation. It was a learning curve that I should've had at some point in my life, but my car overshot it and I've spent most of my life with wheels spinning.

And so now I can find myself talking to landed gentry without feeling the need to kiss up. I am polite and kind. I tease and ask questions. I treat them like a friend, instead of trying to see if I can join the group and talk highbrow. I don't want to join the group-I want to own a dog and eat my vegetables. I want to have loud and long Sunday afternoon antics. I want to shake my ass in the garden to a song blaring through my iPod. I want to know that the chipped toenail polish gets unnoticed in my yoga class and that the under £10 wine we buy is fantastic.

Once I aspired to be as high as it got. I wanted to run companies and be driven to work. I wanted to crack the whip and be feared as the woman you never want to cross. I wanted to be the biggest, baddest corporate bitch who dominated meetings and seduced corporate presidents in my windowed penthouse apartment. It's what I worked for. It's what I wanted.

And then I fell, and if there's anything that falling proves, it's how tough your wings are. I found out that my wings were made of a mix of second class stamps, burnt diaries, lily petals and midnight whispers, all held together by liquid dreams and tears. My wings didn't hold up to the push but when they did spread and start to fly again, I found that they floated well on an English current. Spreading the wingtip, I found that the tiny feathers underneath cared about people, more so than I thought they could or should. I found that they couldn't get me to my former dream of corporate domination and soulless pursuits of power, but they could get me to a small Victorian home, cats that lay in the sun, and a man whom I try to be there for everyday.

And this flight pattern fits so well I can't believe I ever wanted anything else.

The two Helens have merged and the former dreams are gone, replaced by something that I can do aerial acrobatics and loop the loops in. It doesn't mean that everything is perfect, but it does mean that as time goes on, I realize that I am flying where I should be, that the pinnacle is a different height for each person, and that I am finally getting to the point where I am who I should be. I have a house with things I can touch. I know if it will be a good day if I can spot the train spotters. I look forward to laying my head on his chest as we watch TV and sip chardonnay.

If you'll excuse me, I have to get off the train now and run a meeting.

I will be running it, and if I fuck up, that's ok.

Just me. Just Helen.

I don't have to be anyone else anymore.

-H.

Posted by: Everydaystranger at 10:21 AM | Comments (17) | Add Comment
Post contains 1289 words, total size 7 kb.

1 I cant tell you how proud and thrilled I am to read this for you. Really I cant. I can just smile And hope the same for me!

Posted by: stinkerbell at May 18, 2005 10:40 AM (ZznPv)

2 I like the Helen you are very much, you know! Congrats on the presentation!

Posted by: RP at May 18, 2005 01:08 PM (LlPKh)

3 Lego's are fun. Hope you never outgrow playing with them. Good Job on the presentation.

Posted by: Drew at May 18, 2005 01:11 PM (CBlhQ)

4 All of us have those different faces we show depending on who we're with. It really is becoming obvious that you're getting more comfortable with that. And my wife works for an excellent hand surgeon here, but I believe I already discussed this via email last month. Good luck with the surgery.

Posted by: ~Easy at May 18, 2005 01:13 PM (PuO20)

5 God, I adore you! I can only hope that one day I can say something like that about myself. I'm working on it, but I know that I'm not there yet.

Posted by: amber at May 18, 2005 01:46 PM (VZEhb)

6 Hmmm.... Lets see, Knowledge is power, and all these important aristocraps where asking who the questions? I think you maybe missing the mark on just who the most important person in that room was. Setting your sites on "everything" is a pretty easy target. I think you have choosen a far loftier goal of actually trying for what you want. Now, which finger was that again? Maybe you won't have to cuss, instead being able to transmit your true feelings with sign language =) Good luck on the surgery, and keep in mind, you have something those highbrows will never have, the love, and admiration of a small group of people spread all over the world, beats the crap out of some dank castle with ghosts anyday!

Posted by: Dane at May 18, 2005 02:16 PM (ncyv4)

7 So glad to here you are having a good day! Nock'em dead!

Posted by: justme at May 18, 2005 02:17 PM (RnzQA)

8 I think it's admirable and enviable and amazing that you've discovered who you're supposed to be, who you want to be after only one fall. Congratulations to you, Helen.

Posted by: scorpy at May 18, 2005 03:01 PM (Lr/5p)

9 I'm just starting to understand this in my own life. I used to dream just as you did. Now I think I'd rather garden, take afternoon naps with my fuzzy ball of fur, and have babies. I always thought that was a load of crap in college - while taking all of those women's studies classes. I guess everybody takes that journey.

Posted by: suz at May 18, 2005 03:17 PM (GhfSh)

10 I can never tell you enough how much your insightful path to discovery amazes me. You absolutely blow me away.

Posted by: amy t. at May 18, 2005 03:40 PM (zPssd)

11 what is it about attaining our age that makes us so introspective? i'm right there with you. i, too, have found what i desire most is a place to relax and enjoy my boy. a cat. a dog. extended family nearby (and he's actually willing to do that - poor dear doesn't know what he's getting into). as i hit my stride in my 30's, it really feels like these are the best of times. and i'm finally me & it's a good place to be. i'm glad you are finding that, too.

Posted by: becky at May 18, 2005 04:07 PM (/VG77)

12 I don't have to be anyone else anymore TOLD you the 30s were awesome. Some lucky folk learn to get comfy in their own skins sooner than 30, but I think most of us need three decades minimum.

Posted by: ilyka at May 18, 2005 04:44 PM (pUg2N)

13 You go, you wonderful woman!!

Posted by: azalea at May 18, 2005 09:38 PM (hRxUm)

14 Yay Helen!! Nothing more liberating than realizing that if you fail or screw things up, what the hell. Life goes on.

Posted by: diamond dave at May 18, 2005 10:35 PM (IiVR2)

15 You never cease to amaze and inspire me. xx

Posted by: Flikka at May 18, 2005 11:21 PM (puvdD)

16 My 16 year old was diagnosed with 'Trigger finger' when she was 13. Rather rare at that age. Her finger would lock up and she was in unbearable pain until it was freed. She went through surgery to remove the calcium growth that was the cause. She has fully recovered and plays the cello beautifully although in changing weather, she still feels a bit of discomfort or tenderness in the palm of her hand. On a separate note: It sounds as though you are finally getting comfortable in you own skin.

Posted by: Marie at May 19, 2005 12:32 AM (/bz4B)

17 Oops! I should have read Ilyka's comment before I posted mine. Sounds like I copied her, but hey, two woman already past the 30 year mark can't be too full of shit...you are coming into your own. So own it!

Posted by: Marie at May 19, 2005 12:34 AM (/bz4B)

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