Writing With Abandon

I could get used to this, I think as I melt into the massage table.

Kim and I are at the Standard Spa thanks to the fifth grade parents’ generous graduation gift. We spent the morning at the pool, shared a breakfast sandwich followed by some guac and chips, fruit, and fresh coconut water, and talked about anything and everything as we always do. Now we’re in separate rooms for our 75-minute massages, and after that, we’ll head to our mani-pedis (my first in maybe two years?).

I let my mind wander as the tension in my muscles is released. When I flip over, the masseuse works at my neck, which is tight as always.

“I’m a teacher,” I tell her, as though this explains the tightness, “or well, I was a teacher. I just finished last week and I’m leaving the classroom.”

“Wow! What’s next?” She asks. The question everyone has.

“I’m not sure yet,” I say, then explain that I have a few tutoring sessions lined up for the fall, work on the side as a freelance copywriter, and recently completed the third round of interviews for a remote position at a mission-driven global student travel company that I’m just a little bit obsessed with. “I should find out early next week.”

When the massage is over, she offers me an herbal tea and walks me back to the waiting area.

“Good luck with everything!” She says, then heads off to her next client.

I sit down in one of the lounge chairs until Kim arrives, equally calm, and then we head off to our mani-pedis. The two technicians are lovely, and we chat in Spanglish while they pamper us.

“You have a lot of cuticle,” my nail tech tells me. We laugh. I know that I do!

When they are done, over an hour later, Kim and I feel beyond relaxed. Our feet and hands and legs and arms are oiled and soft. Our muscles are released. We practically float back down to the locker room.

“I’m starving. Bathroom and then let’s eat the rest of the guac and chips by the pool?” I suggest.

“Yes!” Kim agrees.

We will juice everything we can out of this spa day.

We head into neighboring stalls. I sit down, pull my phone out from my pocket carefully with my oiled hands.

I see an email from the CEO of that company. It’s only Wednesday, far earlier than I expected to hear. He’d said he was busy this week and the VP is in Rwanda.

My heart flies to my throat as I tap to open it and start reading:

First off, I want to say that our team, including myself, were all very impressed with you, and felt a strong sense of alignment.

Blood pounds in my ears.

Now, this next part may be a bit complex. While we believe you were a strong candidate for the position posted, we actually have a different managerial level position available that we would like to offer you.

“Kim?” I say shakily. “I think I just got a job?”

“What?!” Kim yells from the other stall.

I wait to read the rest of the email at the sink, with my best friend, my co-teacher, my work wife, the biggest supporter throughout all of this. The position he’s suggested is even better than the one I applied for. It’s… me. They see me.

Needless to say, we were unable to use spa voices for the rest of the afternoon.