> CD #38: Back to school
Well, hello. I had only meant to take July off from writing these dispatches, but the summer got away from me and somehow it’s September.
I started my residency today at the University of Calgary and everything went pretty smoothly. Of course, there was no reason to assume things wouldn’t go well, but that didn’t stop me from worrying about every aspect of my first day for weeks (ok, maybe months) in advance.
In my defence, I haven’t left the house for work in 18 months, and it was also the first day back to school for my kids, two-thirds of whom are too young to be vaccinated against COVID-19. So while I’m a bit disappointed in myself for having wasted all that time and energy worrying, I also think it’s quite understandable. I’m not sure I trust anyone who isn’t a little worried right now.
I’ve realized recently that worrying and writing, for me, have something in common: they’re both attempts at controlling my experiences. This revelation came while reading Zadie Smith’s essay “Peonies” (from her pandemic collection, Intimations). I have never thought of myself as a control freak, but this passage rang true, especially since I write memoir:
Writing is routinely described as ‘creative’ – this has never struck me as the correct word. Planting tulips is creative. To plant a bulb (I imagine, I’ve never done it) is to participate in some small way in the cyclic miracle of creation. Writing is control. The part of the university in which I teach should properly be called the Controlling Experience Department. Experience – mystifying, overwhelming, conscious, subconscious – rolls over everybody. We try to adapt, to learn, to accommodate, sometimes resisting, other times submitting to, whatever confronts us. But writers go further: they take this largely shapeless bewilderment and pour it into a mould of their own devising.
Guilty.
My desire for control extends to the way I dress, too. Even though I knew I was only meeting with two people today, I spent an embarrassing amount of time trying on various combinations of clothing in search of the right outfit—much like I used to before the start of each school year.
Since junior high, I’ve held onto this naive belief that the perfect first-day ensemble might work some sort of magic from the outside in and transform my life completely—or at least subdue the internal shrieking. Now, science has proven that how we dress can influence our performance, but I’m starting to suspect there is no outfit powerful enough to neutralize my neurosis.
But it doesn’t stop me from trying.
So what did I end up wearing on my first day? Well, I went with a new-to-me black leather skirt, pink t-shirt and thick black cardigan. Here’s the logic behind this choice: leather is the closest thing I’ll ever have to armour, so it helped me feel secure; the cardigan made things cozy and more collegiate (lol); and the t-shirt, which is a bit ratty, toned the whole look down a notch. Was it comfortable? Not particularly. The skirt is a little tighter than I’d like. But it helped me feel put-together and gave me a sense of control, however misguided.
In retrospect, I probably looked like I was trying a little too hard. But I’m ok with that if it lets people know how seriously I’m taking this opportunity. Plus, I am a try-hard sometimes. It’s not really something I can control.
:) Teresa
What is happening even?? Closet Dispatch is a free, limited-run weekly newsletter by Teresa Wong.