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I have big shoes to fill. My mom’s shoes that is. And while she is still wearing her (closet full of cute) shoes, she has decided to kick off her high heels and trade them in for fun shoes. My mother who has worked a strong and steady career since she graduated college, has retired.
Mom opening her Stiletto Martini Glass gift.
One of my mom’s best friends since college recently recounted the story of the day my mom chose her career. Apparently my mom burst in the door to the sorority house and said, “I know what I’m going to do with my life!”
Now, I don’t know about you people, but this sort of career purpose clarity seems pretty darn amazing.
And my mom has done exactly what she set out to do. She was a teacher at a school for severely handicapped children, she then became the principal, then a school superintendent (the only female school superintendent at that time!), then Director of Curriculum for nine schools (I think it was nine…). My mom has given so much of her life to helping to educate children. She has always, all ways, acted in the best interest of the students and cared with all of her heart.
She continued her own education and received her Doctorate degree, ran Special Olympics events, championed fine arts programs, kept ahead of technological advances to make sure her schools were provided available learning tools, etc., etc.
I would go on and on… but my mom doesn’t actually talk about herself all that much.
(Unlike me who has a blog to share stories.) (Well, to be fair she has a blog too but she’s not really one to talk about achievements.) (Neither am I for that matter, I suppose.) (Apple doesn’t fall far from the tree.) (Sorry– please continue…)
Without further self-chatter interruption, I just want to say that I have an amazing mother and I aspire to give as she has given (and will continue to give… though not through a 9-5 capacity).
Cheers to “Freedom!” (We decided “retirement” seemed like an antiquated term.) Congrats, Mama Bella. I love you beyond measure.
xo
Moi
While I sip a Dirty Grey Goose martini and try my hardest to not let it drool out of my numb lips, I thought I’d write about my dentist.
Yes, my dentist.
For anyone who knows me– I love people and to take it even further, I love people’s stories. LOVE them. People fascinate me. The intent inside of people. The story. The choices. The loves. The losses…
As a friend of mine would say, I’m “ridiculously observant” of people.
So, today, as I sat in the dentist chair and waited for my mouth to go numb, I asked my new dentist a few surface questions (how’s your baby? etc.) and she offered some great answers that were not generic (!) so I dove in. (As my mother would say, I have the “courage to interrogate reality”). Here’s what I learned:
She’s fron Iran (ee-rawn not eye-ran) and she moved to the US to be a dentist at the age of 27. In Iran, women don’t work. And people don’t move anywhere, especially away from home as a single woman in search of a career.
People don’t move? I asked.
She feels this is unique to America. People move a lot here. I told her I’ve moved to Los Angeles, Atlanta, New York, San Francisco, etc., and she said, yes, exactly. People don’t do that in Iran.
So I asked her, (because I’m quite pre-occupied with “purpose” “career” and “service”), how did you know you wanted to be a dentist?
She said that she knew she was good with her hands (she is!), she didn’t want to sit at a desk all day (she get’s bored easily), and she likes people (let’s hope she likes people who ask life questions seeing that I’m the one asking and she’s the one with the sharp dental tools), and she likes that every patient is different– her days are never the same.
Love it! I wanted to dive in more– where did she get the confidence to leave even though her entire family was still in Iran? Did she feel that having a singular goal helped her to survive in a country by herself without knowing one person? How did she meet her husband? Etc, etc., etc.
But instead my mouth went numb and the drilling began… but honestly, I didn’t mind. I trusted this woman. And (I know this sounds crazy but) I enjoyed the time away from work to have this human moment. And while the high pitched wheeeeeeeeeee sounded, I got to think about life and the life of others.
How did she know she was good with her hands? Was there a moment? Did someone point it out? How did she connect this to dentistry?
And…
What am I good at? How do I contribute to the world, or my community, or a person?
Anyway– the martini is working and I’m starting to feel my lips again. (Of course if I drink another martini, I may not be able to feel my lips again.)
Here’s to all the independent women out there– doing it their way (and giving fillings to patients who have the courage to interrogate reality).
