Blue collar

The hospitality industry employs dreamers, creatives, vagabonds, those in the center while simultaneously on the periphery of our society. Some are educated some not; all in the service of mankind. The industry we all believed was indestructible… The hospitality industry has fallen on hard times, and I too have found myself in a different position than I’d prefer. Timing is of course impeccable; my husband and I just bought a home, our dream realized. But innovation is born out of scarcity and resilience is at the end of the rope. Most of what I have poured my heart into for the past years is currently suspended in the air and I’m holding my breath waiting for it to come back down. Writing is cathartic at the moment so a little bit of truth with my whine.

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I was 9 years old and a feeling of shame washed over me on career day. I’m embarrassed to share this but I think radical transparency is critically important to human connection and compassion so… My teacher spoke about noteworthy careers, doctor, lawyer, teacher among them. My daddy a postal worker, my mama mostly stay at home with assorted jobs in hospitality and elsewhere that would permit her to be available to my sister and I in every sense of the word. Francesca then didn’t value those noble careers to the degree she should have, social pressure and need for approval winning out over reason.

Fred and Robyn Hemsey, my mom and dad, both have a warrior work ethic. My dad to this day has 6 different streams of income. He went on to get two masters degrees, or maybe it is three, after turning 40 years old. He is a teacher now. I cut grass with him in the summertime since I was 12, the most formidable work experience of my life. Do the work, even the unglamorous work. Mama attends to everyone in our family, pseudo parents the young teachers in her school, and pours her entire life into the welfare of my sister and I, our husbands, and our cats! She prays for babies. In elementary school I wasn’t evolved enough to advocate for their heroic careers. The suggestion of white collar careers being superior committed me to a life of indentured servitude to goal-oriented perfection. To good grades, accolades, and enough extra curricular activities to get into Georgetown. My blue collar parents worked to their bones to send me there and are still laden with some loans from the pursuit. But it was their joy to do it. And it was my joy to go. Current events beg the question does school/career/status the person make or are we all just playing pretend? In the blink of an eye schools are closed, theaters shut down, we cannot spend time with a friend over coffee. Michelin starred and corner bar alike are leveled, flocks of people are out of work. Grocery workers and civil servants are rightfully elevated to hero status and the white collared are safely in their homes learning just what it’s like to be a stay at home parent.

I’m two glasses of wine in rambling but I mean this all to say, we subscribe to stories in our heads and the stories hold so much weight we are unable to see outside their influence. A 9 year old may not realize the heroism of a stay at home mom and postal worker. We won’t long for the warming smile of an elderly fixture at the diner pouring a second cup of coffee until we can’t get it. A grown woman won’t know how to feel her worth without income to match it because her whole life she sought stability and structure grounded in grades and pay. But we can change all that in this moment. Feeling my way through a new normal this evening with my feet up and no alarm set. Tomorrow’s another day; but first calling my parents to say thanks.

Suffering Saved Me

I asked what would you do if you could do anything. What would it be? He weighed the options. I could tell his brain was working by the way his brow furrowed. He said he would get in his car and drive somewhere. No grand plan, elaborate purchase, or exotic trip. Just him behind the wheel of his beloved little Chevy Trax. The car I’ve been driving up and down the Garden State Parkway for the past month. It’s better on gas than my Wrangler and I feel close to him when I drive it. His residual trinkets in the cup holder, Mother Cabrini medal affixed to the mirror, pictures of my sister and I, and tools in the trunk.

When I was a senior in high school he waited outside my home every single day to drive me to school until I was of age to drive on my own. He nibbled on his cheese bagel while he waited. Bagel warmly toasted. Two slices of cold cheese. I still bring him one nearly every morning except he’s not behind the wheel of a car. He is still very much giving me a gift that’s invaluable. A gift of sight. I can see clearly for the first time, maybe ever.

Being with him in a vulnerable state, the rock of our family reliant on supports he never needed, affirms for me that we all have pockets of fragility despite how desperately we try to conceal them. We project the illusion of contentment and yet we’re never really content. It’s onto the next thing; more, better, and as quickly as possible. But I’ve seen when you’re at your bottom, contentment is so easily found. Found in a meal consumed. The wiggle of a toe. A morning without pain. A night’s rest. Everything is enough. The meekest of the meek are incalculably powerful. Suffering becomes your saving grace as all distractions fall from view.

We talk about the Korean War, and plan on where we will go on our next drive. He affixes stickers to a piece of paper, his scissor grip as firm as ever. We speak tenderly, gives kisses, take our time. We split a slice of Nutella tart and sing. Yes, suffering definitely saved me.

What I learned in 2019

In 2019 I turned 30! Gosh was this year full. As is my annual custom, I’ve enjoyed distilling a little of what I took away this past year.

I learned that oftentimes the best thing to do in any given situation is nothing. We are too reactive. Period. Take a breath, people. Take a breath, Francesca.

I learned that God’s plan is my plan. His timing is my timing. I can long for something with all my being and it may still be delayed. I will trust in him.

I learned I have been running in circles, bending over backwards, seeking approval. I was seeking approval as a child, as a high school student, as a Hoya on Capitol Hill, and as an employee. I still fall into my old patterns of conforming to others’ needs rather than being present to my truth. But I am aware now that approval would be nice, of course, but I don’t need it.

I learned that the internet and media breeds toxicity but only if we allow it.

I learned that once you acknowledge your shame…You speak the words that haunt you…You identify with that which threatens to undo you, you are free.

I learned when in doubt, respond with more love.

I learned that I can drive, and drive far. Solo trips for work all around the metropolitan area gave me a sliver of peace I hadn’t known I needed in the unlikeliest of scenarios.

I learned about rational emotive behavior therapy and it has given me such solace. I can never thank Erin enough in her infinite wisdom for seeing in me a young lady who was struggling.

I learned all that glitters isn’t gold. It’s all a farce. We are all playing pretend.

I learned that I am a powerhouse. I can do what I thought I couldn’t. I can survive discomfort, I can advocate, I can deliver, and I can do it with grace or show teeth if need be.

I learned that the future is language thanks to a fish and a bird.

As I held him in my hands and gently cleaned him, I was reminded of the circle of our lives. It was unexpected and abrupt, but oddly comforting to bear witness to. Vulnerable we are born and to vulnerability we will return. We have to take care of one another.

I learned that nothing even remotely worth having comes easily. And our true growth is in the wake of adversity. When you are on your knees with no other options, that’s when the miracle arrives. Not a minute before.

I’ve met some remarkable women this past year, and I’ve learned a multitude from each of them. I’ve learned that anything is possible with your tribe.

I learned that we need not shun our unsavory emotions; there is a place for every crayon in the box. Our humanness is pretty freaking colorful.

I learned that we have stories in our head that aren’t always indicative of the truth. Dare to question those stories.

My husband, God love him, taught me more than I can relay here. Every day another dimension of him is revealed and I am in awe.

I learned that I’m still afraid and I’m not even sure of what sometimes, but on the other side of fear is a beautiful place called life.

On approval

You don’t need anyone to approve of you.

She emphatically said to me in her calm, raspy voice while staring me dead in my frantic eyes. She picked up on the fact that I’d been struggling. She needn’t spend more than a few afternoons over tea with me to register my fear. “Have you ever actually seen your fear?” she continued. My jaw was on the floor.

In her 81 years of life, she’s been around the block a time or ten, and the assuredness and wisdom that only age and hardship can afford seeps from her every word. She spoke of her days frequenting the Albert Ellis Institute in Manhattan, and learning how to harness the dialogue unfolding in her life to reduce if not expunge her fear. She said to part ways with the ‘shoulds.’ She said it would take time. That we can’t turn the boat completely around mid-current. It would take practice. “You don’t need anyone to approve of you.”

I sat with her words and after weeks of introspection came to the following, a script of sorts, to revisit when I begin believing that the human condition and the lives we lead should be any other way than they are.

Nothing is wrong with you. You keep fantasizing about all the issues and making mountains out of everything you feel and experience because you have no tolerance for discomfort. You rely on other people to accept you, affirm you, and make you feel like you’re enough. If you fulfill all the criteria of a manageable mood, a prestigious job, an enviable marriage, a healthy body, impeccable coping skills and neat even days with no unknowns, then everything will be as you feel it should. Everything will be as you feel it must.

But the world isn’t waiting for you to thrive. Its inhabitants aren’t here to solve your problems. And until you have faith in yourself, and give yourself the approval you are desperately waiting for someone or something else to give you, you will always come up short. No amount of money, scoops of ice cream, promotions, or criticism free days will ever be enough to numb your dis-ease until you decide I approve of me, as I am. Every single part.

Every good thing. Every doubt. Every loathsome emotion. Every intrusive thought. Every poor excuse and bad behavior. Every misstep. Every embarrassment. Every shame ridden sentiment. Every sideways glance from someone you care entirely too much about. Every time you divulged too much. Every embarrassingly long social media spiral. Every argument. Every debilitating low mood. Every strand of your DNA. Every component of your mental disorder. Every bill left to pay. Every cluttered corner. Every messy room. And ribbon of cellulite. And gray hair. And eye brow untweezed. And dysfunctional family encounter. And drunken outburst. And argument. And misspoken word. And longing. And comparison you assigned too much weight to. And topic that steals your mind and heart away from the glorious albeit imperfect present.

I realize now that I have thought all along that getting approval was the goal and reassurance from others would keep me safe but being on the other side of a need for approval is where the freedom lies. You don’t need anyone to approve of you.

This is 30

You've been carrying around your fear like an appendage for a long while now. For 30 years. Making excuses for its validity and accommodations for its glaring intrusion in your life. You have been compromising each day, shaving away pieces of yourself to fulfill the perceived wishes of others because acceptance is neat and safe. Wearing a big smile, offering a hand, and carrying a plate of cookies so that everyone will let you in, approve of you. You have been afraid to stand, take up space, and demand what you want for your life.

You’re desperate to contain your emotions because their expression feels unruly. A shiny orb you aspire to. You feel good making other people happy. You hunger praise but the effects are fleeting, its incidence only fueling a need for more. You derive your worth from helping others, from saving. And in that endless pursuit, your truth is the last considered. You are relieved when others say you’re allowed to feel how you feel and it's ok to want what you want. You spend endless, valuable minutes, hours, even days in your head instead of in the world. In this, your 30th year, it’s time to actually consider precious girl, what you want your next years to hold.

What you want is to step boldly into a future that you decide and do not compromise on. And even if that future’s unbeknownst to you at the moment,  you’re committed to making room for the inquiry. You’re asking the questions, flexing those mental muscles, navigating conflict, embracing discomfort. Because the truth of the matter is you spent 30 years playing by the rules, when you could have been writing your own.

I’m not unique in the least. Human beings are riddled with fear, some can just conceal it far better than I can. Few like to talk much about fear; it’s not cute or Instagram worthy. What might set me apart is a willingness to stare at it, study it, befriend it, knowing it has been one of my greatest teachers. Fear has shielded me from the pains of disapproval, and of risk and longing. But 30 finally feels like the time that the benefits of aligning with my fear are not nearly as great as those of fear’s refusal.

I’ve been waiting for someone else to decide for me. My doting family, my husband, bosses, colleagues, books, therapists, podcasts, the list continues... I’m an open book, a sponge, all the platitudes to describe someone who is a little too honest, too feeling, and too pliable. I’ve always been looking outward for direction and I can see clearly now that it’s a woman I have been waiting for and her name is Francesca.

That was then, and this is 30.