Why the Vest?
Well, I’m so glad you asked. It’s nothing more than a symbol really, of an identity that’s been all but abandoned.
As a child with a vivid imagination that sometimes ran away with
me, I envisaged myself, as many children do, in a variety of vocations- all of
them rather artistic, and invariably successful. In my mind’s eye, I was an
actress, a dancer, a singer, a writer, a poet- all manifestations of a single
intangible drive to channel the inspiration I gleaned from life into a form
that I could share.
One evening at home, when I was 7, I came downstairs in a fur-trimmed leather hand-me-down vest with an enormous oversized pencil in hand
and bombastically proclaimed that I am now a Russian writer. My parents thought
this was hysterical and I willingly posed for a string of photos that
documented the evening’s adopted identity. Behind the attention grab, however, a
profound grain of truth was motivating my pomp.
As I transitioned out of childhood, my artistic passions persisted
in my hobbies and fantasies, but were consistently sidelined by ideas of
success, of conquest, of priorities and of inadequacy that had crept into my
life. A child of an immigrant Russian family of very meager means and high
ambitions, the validity of artistic expression as a form of winning gave way to
sports, academic accomplishments and strategic rational decisions that opened
doors to career opportunities. Competitive biathlon, Sea Cadets, summer school
and just a little bit of dance guided me through a busy and driven, yet
somewhat lonely and unfulfilled adolescence, with promises and expectations of
a bright and successful future ahead.
When the time came to graduate high school, the decision making
was agonizing – what next? Obviously university, but what to study? English was
always my forte, but the workforce was flooded with arts grads. The field of
journalism was too competitive, too unpredictable. What reliable applications
could there possibly be for my creative tendencies? None. Fear of failure won.
I went into a technical field at the suggestion and approval of my family. I
dug my conquering teeth into it, as I had done with sports and school, in a
deep and desperate hope that with enough effort I will learn to love it. My
gusto for writing eased the financial burden of post-secondary (something my
family could not afford) as a plethora of scholarship essays written in my
final year of high school covered the cost of my degree.
Efficiency was the name of the game in university- no dabbling in
different subjects, no tiptoeing off the line that was to lead me to success.
Extracurricular activities were set aside as I channeled my being
into my resume- into grades, conferences, field trips, work experience, and
strategic networking. I took any opportunity to rub shoulders with the industry
that I imagined would soon envelop me- the logical aim of my efforts. No wasted
time; no lost momentum……just sometimes I would write a poem- somewhat perplexed
and dejected- or go dance in the deserted evening streets for the audience
in my mind.
Effort and Persistence joined forces with Luck, and I landed
a dream job almost straight out of university. My success bells rang with
triumph- I had indeed avoided failure! My path to stardom was
paved..........but the elation of victory slowly gave way to despair as I began to bury my inner fairy, until it was that in fancy boardrooms with splendid views, disenchantment happened. It was time for a time-out.
The relief of this realization brought all my high-flying
career aspirations to a grinding halt. As I about-turned to face myself, the
years and success strategies miraculously dissolved, and that same self-
important child was still right there, impatiently waiting to don her old
fur-trimmed vest and start scribbling about the world with a giant pencil
that’s way too big for her.
And so you ask me, why the
vest?
Well it’s the armor on my
quest,
No matter how I may be
vexed,
To live and share my truth
in text.
