August 10th 2015
Story originally written and experienced: December 11th 2013
It was better than I imagined.
Glimmering lights. Aesthetically pleasing servers in jet black blouses, serving top-of-the-line champagne, compliments of the corporate company hosting the event.
I was at the Michael Kors Christmas party.
Being wined and dined under dimly-lit lights at Andaz on 5th ave.
It was 8:00 PM on a Wednesday. And I was wearing a black and white dress with heels I assumed mandatory. Surrounded by exceptionally beautiful faces. Free food with gourmet garnishes. Watching
Michael Kors himself standing in the middle of the room.
Announcing incredible raffle-ticket prizes for ten lucky employees.
A $3,000 handbag.
Weeks of paid vacation.
2 tickets to any destination in the world—hotel included.
And the crowd went wild.
I felt so uneasy.
And I couldn’t conceptualize why.
Maybe it was because I was only 5 days into working at the company and I didn’t know a single soul at the party, my sobriety was at a particular low, or because I was wearing notably high heels in an environment where couches were
s p a r s e l y
Available throughout the premises, and all I really wanted to do was sit the hell down.
But deep down I knew it was because.
I was damn lonely in a more-than-crowded room.
Nodded where I saw fit. Inserted myself in conversation where I thought I might be able to. Felt pAnIcKeD when the person I finally mustered up the courage to talk to would depart to go to the bathroom or take a quick call to chat with someone else instead, forcing me to push the reset button on who I should attempt to talk to next.
I felt a little sad.
There I was.
Existing in a room full of glitz and glamour, completely immersed in a company, culture and ambience some people would only dream of indulging in.
All I could really think about…
Was dipping out. Trading in my pleated dress for PJs. Neat bun for a messy one. And forced conversations for ones that felt more at home.
I didn’t like the way I felt.
Feeling new. On the outskirts. Wondering incessantly what everyone thought of the new girl 5 days in.
If they thought anything about her at all.
But as I sat there, legs crossed on a couch I miraculously located next to open bar number 8, champagne in one hand and a toothpicked ahi tuna appetizer in the other, I realized.
This wasn’t the first time I felt this way.
Not at all.
Because truth be told.
Every new friend. Job. Class. Romance. Or place I had ever taken a chance on, been invested in or was initially introduced to.
Started with a feeling like this.
Uneasiness. Uncertainty. A desire to revert back to whatever felt less scary and normal.
It never felt that way in the end.
The adjective “new” isn’t mean to be long-lasting.
It’s meant to morph into “regular” “exciting” or “undeniably for the better.”
And I knew that was true because every essential ingredient, person or change in my life was once labeled as new too.
So I cut myself a break.
Because I was damn doing it.
And knew why I was.
Just like every new pursuit I went for in the past—both in emotion and career—ended up feeling regular, exciting and more often than not
Better than I imagined.