Entry 8: Reflections
I have no event to report, no milestone to document. Life around the Bower house has been pretty quiet lately. Still, I've been plagued all day by a desire to write. It was a slow day at work, so I spent a lot of time staring out of my window at the streets of New York thinking about my life. I can't say what brought on this feeling of nostalgia, but I haven't been able to shake it.
As I sat there today, I took in my surroundings — the president's office. It's still hard for me to believe at times. I had never been an outgoing person, taking after my father far more than my mother. And those reserved traits only escalated after he died. It is no understatement to say Mother and I were completely lost without him. Neither one of us could function properly for months, we missed him so much, and the shock of losing him so suddenly left us in a haze of grief. His wife and daughter were as different as night and day, but if nothing else, we shared a deep and unconditional love for him. To this day, the six months following his death are a blur. Sometimes I wonder how we managed to get through it, and my only answer is that my father took care of everything. His life insurance paid off the house, guaranteeing us a home; the trust fund he set up for me put me through high school and college; and his investments and insurance provided my mother enough of an income so that she wouldn't have to work. He saw to it that in the event of his death, we would be taken care of, and without his planning, we would certainly have lost everything. Eventually, we found our footing, but sometimes I can't believe how much I still miss him. It's been twenty-one years since he died, which means I've been without my father half again as long as I was with him.
Throughout high school and the first few years of college, I never really thought of myself a creative person, certainly not creative enough to consider a career that centered on coming up with new and interesting ways to sell products to consumers. When I found myself registering for a marketing class as an elective, I never imagined it would lead to a change in career goals. I always focused on the humanities — specifically English, my first major. I never once considered business. Too much stress, and way too intimidating and male-dominated. As a sophomore, I was quite content to stay in school forever, working toward an English Ph.D. and then settling down as nondescript literature professor at a small liberal arts college – the perfect environment for a shy, overweight, awkward girl to feel right at home. But there I was, coming up with idea after idea for these fictional products we had to market to various demographics. My professor called me aside after one of the last classes and asked if I had considered changing my major. I debated my options all summer, did a lot of soul-searching, and finally decided that I had enjoyed my advertising experience enough to at least give it another chance. And so began my transformation from a wallflower lit major to aspiring ad exec.
If only it had been that easy. I was so unsure of myself that I didn't tell anyone I had replaced my lit classes with business classes. Shakespeare II was dropped in favor of Advanced Marketing, and Creative Writing lost out to Ad Design and Typography. And no one knew what classes I was taking, not even sorority sisters or Mother, who didn't find out about my change of major until the beginning of my senior year when I was asked to travel with the marketing club to Chicago for a career fair. She couldn't believe it, though she said she knew something was going on. She saw the changes in me, both physical and mental.
I guess, to use a cliche, you could say I was coming out of my shell, but Mother later told me she didn't want to risk making me self-conscious by mentioning it. Every once in a while, that woman actually does something that has my best interests at heart. I was trying to be so subtle about exercising, building confidence and studying for a career no one even knew I was interested in. And for the most part, it was working. Thankfully, none of my close friends were in the business school. Most of them, even in the feminist era of the early 1970s, were working harder for their "MRS." than their B.S., so their majors were all in the humanities or fine arts — acceptable majors for the future wives of Congressmen, doctors and corporate lawyers. But more and more women were finding themselves drawn to law and politics, as well as science, technology, and business, so I wasn't the only woman in my classes, as might have been the case even a decade earlier.
There were plenty of us who discovered we actually wanted careers. And the more involved with advertising I became, the more I loved it. But I was still intimidated by the corporate world, and the corporate world still wasn't ready to welcome women with open arms. So it became an issue of survival. If I was going to make a career doing what I loved, then I'd better be willing to fight for it. Wallace and McQuade was one of two companies that responded to the fifteen resumes I submitted at the career fair, and when I accepted a position, I was the first woman on the staff who wasn't a secretary, which probably accounts for why I was treated like one for most of my the first year.
I really am fortunate that the time I was off having Jonathan didn't push me back further than it did. I've known many women who lost their jobs after having a baby. But by the time he was born, I had proven myself valuable to the company and had made some inroads with a few top executives who were reluctantly willing to trust that I'd be back. And it was a difficult decision to make. A part of me really wanted to stay home and be a full-time mom, and leaving that precious baby with someone else, even Mother, was more difficult than I imagined. I got a few breaks when Michael came home, as much of his work after being on location could be done from home. Though he hardly appreciated playing Mr. Mom and was usually out the door again at first opportunity. And through it all, Jonathan has adapted. He's never gotten into trouble, his grades are excellent, and he gets along very well in school. Do I wish I could spend more time with him? Of course. What mother doesn't But I also know that without my work, I could never be content, and that wouldn't do either one of us any good. He is the world to me, and every decision I make is done with him in mind.
And now here I am — president of Wallace and McQuade. And while I may have found my voice in the office, I know I still harbor some of the same insecurities that plagued me as a teen. My greatest fear is that I will be unmasked, discovered to be nothing more than an imposter in executive clothing. I know I deserve this position, but that doesn't stop me from sometimes thinking that I just tricked everyone into believing I'm smart and successful, and I'm really just a scared little girl pretending to be confidant and savvy. I know it's senseless, but the fears crop up every once in a while, particularly when I'm confronted by the persistent sexist attitudes that still haunt the boardroom.
Though I'm not naive enough to base my self-worth on what men think of me, it does get frustrating coming up against so many men who simply can't handle equality among the sexes. At first I thought that was the price I had to pay for choosing to pursue a career, but now I realize the problem is them. That reasoning admittedly does nothing to get me a date come Saturday night, but I've already made the mistake of being in a relationship with someone too insecure to let me be me. I've worked too hard to gain the confidence I need to get and keep me where I am today, and I like who I am too much to sacrifice part of myself to preserve the ego of any man. Sounds good when I write it down, but believing it every time some guy changes the subject when I talk about work or stops calling the first time I put a business meeting before him is a little more difficult.
But all in all, as I examine how my life has turned out so far, I must say I'm happy. I probably invest too much of my identity into my career and I can definitely work on venturing outside of my comfort zone. I still tend to see areas that need improvement more readily than areas that have been improved, and when faced with personal competition, I immediately duck into hiding. I know I'm not that scared little girl who avoided social settings and didn't have one friend who wasn't spiteful and insincere, but the lessons I've learned about not trusting people's intentions have made it hard to trust without reserve. However, I am working on these lingering insecurities, particularly as I find myself surrounded by people who seem to genuinely like, respect and support me, feelings that are fully reciprocated. Somehow, that's starting to make all the difference.