UNCONDITIONED CHAPTER 47
Vulnerability: The Final Frontier
A six hundred square foot art studio, which was almost as large as my entire house, awaited me. However, despite having my own space, my initial cohabitation with Noel was not a walk in the park. He’d been an only child, a surprise to an older couple who thought they were infertile; a husband in a traditional first marriage of twenty-five years (which had begun when I was ten); and a high-level executive accustomed to everything being done exactly the way he wanted immediately. His heydays were well before the advent of the women’s movement. I’d been living on my own for over ten years and considered myself post-bullshit. I now knew what boundaries were and had no intention of letting any of my personal triumphs slip away. Shortly after I moved in, Noel said, “I want to invite Lou and Joan Greene over for dinner.”
“That sounds great. I’d like to meet them.”
A few days later he asked, “Have you called Joan to make arrangements for dinner?”
“No,” surprised by the question.
“Why not,” he stated with an edge.
“Because they’re your friends and you said you wanted to invite them.”
“You’re my wife. You’re supposed to do invitations.”
“HA! I’m not your wife yet. I had no idea you expected me to do that. Why would I call your friends? I don’t even know them. And, who says I’m supposed to?”
“That’s the way it is with couples. Women take care of these things, arrangements, you know,” waving his hand dismissively, a John Waters mannerism that remained unremarked upon.
“No, I don’t know. I’ve never been a wife like that, and I don’t ever intend to. If you want to invite your friends over for dinner, let’s decide on a day and time, you call them, and then we’ll plan the menu and cook together. Okay?”
“Yeah, okay. I’ll call them. What should we make?”
Noel’s first wife took care of all domestic details, including the rearing of their two children, Nancylee and Ned. At the office, he had legions of employees to boss around. While I marveled at how gentlemanly he was with his rush to open doors and pull chairs out, I wasn’t keen on being expected to be his minion. However, I appreciated how quickly he dropped the argument and respected my stance.
I wasn’t the only one who resisted Mr. Bossypants. One evening at dinner, Noel said, “You know, Ned never talks to me.”
“Have you ever tried listening?”
Noel thought for a few seconds and then said, “I don’t think so.”
We both laughed. “Try asking a question and then keep your mouth shut. I know it’ll be hard but when he finishes answering one question, acknowledge his answer, and then ask him another rather than telling him how he should’ve answered the first.” We both laughed again.
Noel was still working down in the Boston area at the time, and he met Ned for dinner one evening after work. Noel came home excited to report, “I took your advice! I asked Ned questions and then didn’t say anything, and he talked to me! It was amazing! You should’ve heard him!”
Noel had been tough on Nancylee too, often being critical of her despite her awesome competence. As a female in the Coast Guard, she faced extreme gender discrimination. Every opportunity that arose, I pointed out how remarkable each of her advances were in the face of often being the only female in the crew. I shared with Noel many of my own tales of professional gender bias and how much more challenging it must have been for Nancylee in the ultra-macho armed services. Given more insight into what it’s like for professional women to succeed, Noel dropped the criticism and began to recognize his daughter’s accomplishments.
Blended families can be challenging, but Jesse and I lucked out despite the fact our little family was so different than Noel’s. Jesse, the motorcycle driving beach bum studying in the Virgin Islands, and me, the designer peacenik, were welcomed by Nancylee and Ned who were patriotic all-Americans. As we got to know each other, the sharp edge of stereotypes blurred and the comfort and camaraderie of family became the focus. Both Nancylee and Ned (and now Ned’s wife, Stephanie) continue to shower me with generous, thoughtful gestures and supportive words. Even though technically, I’m not old enough to be their stepmother, I try to fill that role and be their friend as well.
When I moved in with Noel, I rented out my house and continued to work with Margaret at our design company. Jesse was in college, and I was still clawing my way out of debt. I’d told Margaret a few years (before I’d even met Noel) that I couldn’t see myself sticking with our business for the long haul and would probably move on within about five years. Now that my personal circumstances had changed, I had more freedom to pursue my tamped-down aspirations. The only problem was having the courage to admit them out loud.
At three years into our relationship, Noel and I had created a mutually supportive environment. We’re both caretaker types, so our life together became rich in loving attention. It was time to say yes to the next proposal, which was a frequent topic of conversation.
As we planned this monumental change, another grew more pressing—my career. I was ready to move on from the graphic design business and wanted to be an artist, however, financial independence was important to me. (And, I had debt.) Art was not the kind of career on which one can count for a steady income, so I squelched my creative aspirations and decided to return to school to get a master’s degree in organizational management.
After Noel and I were married, Margaret and I dissolved our business, each keeping our favorite clients. I set up a graphic design office in my studio space. As I gathered information and forms to apply to a master’s degree program, an irksome sensation couldn’t be ignored—I was doing this because I thought I should and not because I wanted to. And I didn’t have the courage to admit it.
A feeling of doom persisted, so I went to a career counselor and explained my dilemma. When I said I couldn’t possibly be an artist because I won’t make any money, she stared at me stone faced and said, “How do you know that?”
“There are no guarantees, and it could take a long time.”
“Are you guaranteed a job as an organizational management specialist?”
“No. But my earning potential is more promising in management and it’s essential for me to earn money.”
“Why?”
“Because I don’t want to depend upon Noel.”
“Why not?”
“Because independence is important to me. I don’t ever want to get stuck being beholden to a man for money. I’ve been in that situation and I don’t want to go there again.”
“So, you think your relationship with Noel is like other relationships you’ve had?”
“No, but I still want to make my own money.”
“How does Noel feel about this?”
“I don’t know. I haven’t had the courage to bring it up.”
“This is a conversation you need to have tonight.”
There was no fooling around with this therapist, so that night at dinner, my mind bounced from fear to self-criticism to excitement and back again. I need to be financially independent. I’ve taken care of myself for so long and the few years when I was dependent, I hated it. What kind of feminist asks her husband to support her? Who do you think you are, anyway? You barely support yourself with graphic design, how will you ever make it with fine art? You have no connections or training. Then I’d stop myself and think, I’m petrified of vulnerability. What if my dream can come true? But . . . what if he laughs at me?
I knew I had to open my heart to Noel, share my dreams and my fears. I was terrified.
Noel chattered away happily about his day, unaware of the angst and desire wrestling within me. When we finished eating, I said, “I need to talk to you about something.”
“What’s up?”
“Well, ummm, the more I think about going into organizational management, ummm the more it doesn’t feel right because there’s ummm something else that I really want to do but ummm I’m afraid to try because it would mean ummm that I won’t be able to earn as much while I’m learning.”
Concerned, Noel asked, “What do you want to do?”
On the verge of tears, I said, “I want to be an artist.”
“THAT’S GREAT! You should be an artist. Fuck organizational management.”
“But what if I can’t earn much money while I’m learning to paint?”
“Who said you had to earn money? You don’t have to earn any money.”
“But I don’t want to be dependent upon you.”
“You’re not dependent. You’re my partner. It’s our money and I make enough money to support us. You don’t have to worry about money.”
By this time, I was crying and laughing. Clearly, I still had a long way to go in my recovery.
“I can schedule my design projects, so I have time in between to take painting classes. There’s plenty of room in the studio to set up an easel. Thank you for being so understanding and generous.”
“I think it’s great you want to be an artist and I’ll help you do that.”
Coming on December 31!
Chapter 48: Cinderella is about the happy ending of career success and the profound milestone of a child’s innocence.