Early this week, I learned that I didn't get a job I really, really wanted. I wasn't shocked (it's a competitive market, and all you can do is your best) but I was still disappointed. I found out the news while I was visiting my parents. That pulled down all my defenses and led to me sniffling in the basement. "I want to soar with the editorial eagles," I said to my mother. "Yet maybe I am merely a bumbling sparrow! A clumsy, moulting sparrow!" My dad gently rested his hands on my shoulders and said, "Just think of that poster with the kitten hanging on the tree branch. You just hang in there, okay?" I lost my shit (crying, snotting) when he said that, because I could tell he was trying his hardest to fix the unfixable. I could sense a mild helplessness in his attempt to make me feel better, because my problems are no longer little-girl problems. He can't make things better like he used to. And these days, I wind up helping him in his old age more often than he can help me. It's okay. It's just hard to deal with the shifted balance, and to quiet the voice inside me that wonders if he'll still remember me three years from now.
Labels: dad
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