Gratitude Letter #11
To One BadAss [From Another]
Dear Jess,
I’m typing this out on my phone, as I lay on my back on a yoga mat waiting for my hot Pilates class to begin. I feel like there is something fitting about that — the juxtaposition of relaxation, gratitude and also the unrelenting compulsion to get shit done — in writing to you; about you; for you.
I’m also typing this while still in a bit of a warm little cocoon of love from your wedding, which was hands down one of the most special weekends of my life. I feel so honored that you included me in that. To witness the pure joy, love and connection between not only you and your husband (!) but also you and every one of your guests was amazing. The mole hole wasn’t too shabby, either. The whole thing — it was pure fucking magic.
And speaking of magic. There’s you.
It’s so funny that I’ve just gone on about going to your wedding, because two years ago, do you even think either of us would have imagined that would be a thing? I remember having somewhat awkward interactions with you when we first met. [I remember running into you in the bathroom at the Golden Tulip, we were both washing our hands… “Hey!…” “Hey…” Avert our eyes….]
You were (are) such this powerhouse of a woman, a self-assured professional who just seemed to have her shit together in every way and I was intimidated. I also didn’t quite know what to do with you. I felt like we should click, but we had one phone call where we just didn’t. And that was fine. Life went on and I think neither of us expected we ever really be in touch again, at least personally or in a real way.
But. Life.
When you had a job opening, I hesitated to apply. To be honest, I just wasn’t sure how we would work together. (I am almost positive you were having similar feelings.) I was also still intimidated. You seemed so in control and like you had all the answers. I was at a point in my life where I felt like I had zero answers. I was unsure of pretty much everything, especially myself. To be honest, I wasn’t even sure I could do the job you needed done, but I steeled myself through the grueling interviews (read: Yael) and we began to work together.
And pretty soon, it was clear. This was magic. [Can you sense a recurring theme here?] Not just working together, which we did so well, but just us as two people — women, souls — connecting.
As parts of my life began to fall apart, I struggled to hide that from most people in my life, including myself. But there was something safe about you. Maybe it was because you were thousands of miles away and our interactions took place via phone or Skype (when it cooperated), or maybe it was because you just have a way of connecting so deeply with people. You make it ok to be vulnerable and share experiences like not many people can. It’s a gift. Whatever it was, I was able to confide in you that my life was getting hard. And you listened, and empathized. You validated me. You made me feel normal, like I wasn’t a monster for voicing things that made me feel like a monster sometimes. I distinctly remember the day I confided in you that things at home were hard. Really hard. Behind a closed door, I told you — the first person — one of the only people I ever told — how hard this shiny life I’d waited so long to be in — was. I remember saying so much more than I actually said with words. I remember feeling like you understood so much more than you said.
And then, my life completely cracked open. At the time, it felt like the end of the world. And at first, I tried to hide it from you. Because I wanted to be professional and not bring my shit to work. But eventually, I couldn’t hide that the background of my Skype calls had changed and the whole sordid tale tumbled out.
I’m now typing this on my computer, listening to Beyoncé’s Lemonade. Which is also fitting, because when I told you about my heartbreak, wrote about times I felt crazy and flipped out á la Bey, you not only listened, you validated my feelings. You shared your own stories in a raw and real way that showed me you were not only hearing me — seeing me, and my pain — but that you knew my pain, you’d felt it, and you still accepted me. It was beautiful. So many people in my life, important people, people in “real life” — not people I knew over the phone or Skype — couldn’t, wouldn’t, didn’t do that.
You were a reminder that how I told my story to myself mattered. You reminded me not to view struggles or heartbreak or any part of me or my life as a weakness. You helped me to share myself, even the vulnerable parts and say “fuck you” to anyone who couldn’t accept them. [Note: obviously you said it much more eloquently, but you also know when a “fuck you” is appropriate.]
Watching you and hearing about your journey was inspiring. Is inspiring. You’ve made me believe in myself again, in love again, in writing again, in the world again.
It became a joke: I want to be like Jess when I grow up. When I realized holy shit you’re only a year older than me I felt suddenly so inadequate. HOW THE FUCK IS SHE SO FUCKING COOL AND AMAZING AND ACCOMPLISHED AND BEAUTIFUL AND EVERYTHING SHE IS AND SHE’S MY AGE?!
And you are. You are all of those things, and more. And perhaps the most amazing thing about you is that you never make me feel inadequate. You make me feel like I am also so fucking cool (you sent me a card that literally says “YOU ARE SO COOL”), amazing, accomplished and beautiful. And not in a corny or trite way. In job interviews after we stopped working together, I’d get asked “What three words would your last supervisor use to describe you?” Without hesitation, one was always, “badass.”
I feel so #blessed for the wisdom, friendship, beauty and honesty you’ve brought into my life. When I felt like I was trapped, you helped me find my way out — and into something so much more magical than I could ever have imagined. Thanks for being such an important part of this journey, for sharing yours, and for being someone I know will always be a part of my path forward.
In Love and Beyoncé, and My Deepest Gratitude,
❤Lisa
