MIAMISBURG RHAPSODY

written in August 2006

I have inherited a nightmare. It is a legacy of achievement that seems, without fail, to prevent me from being, in any way, simple. There is NO simple in my life. Looking around at my peers I see their lives carving out sensible and tangible niches in front of them. I have no niche. I have multiple ports of call…and I’m beginning to question WHY?

Raised in a loving but mostly non-practicing Catholic home, I was pushed, by my parents to achieve. My father, an ex-marine who only has his GED, had been a construction worker then a project manager and finally an administrator for buildings and grounds facilities in school systems. My mother was an educator with a bachelor’s degree so naturally education was a focal point in our home if not always than at the very least, from the time I was about 10 or 11. Just in time to send me off, admittedly of my own choosing, to an all-female, private, elite, Catholic high school. Let the fast tracking begin.

The faculty whispered, “College,” in our ears from the first day of my freshman fall semester…it wasn’t a suggestion. This was our reality. Academy girls went to college; and so I did. Then came three years of grad school because, hey, if anyone in our family was going to be the first woman with Master’s degree…it would, of course, have to be me. After all, mom had said, “don’t stop, go and get all your education finished!!”

At the same time my only sibling pursued a bohemian lifestyle funded by my newly widowed father. Six would-be months of study in Europe turned into a full year. The later six months of her jaunt were nothing more than a sabbatical for my poor sibling who simply couldn’t “deal” with the loss of mom. Meanwhile I studied, taught French, worked part time and got straight A’s.

To what end?

Well let’s skip the music industry mental breakdown period. It’s a tired subject. Fast forward…

I live in the busiest Metropolis on the East Coast. Perhaps some would argue that title is rightfully held by New York City; but this year being a presidential election year, I’m going to have to beg to differ.

So anyway here I am. After surviving a rough freshman year in DC, I finally feel like I have my feet under me,, (a real job, health insurance, good roommates, friends I care for, a car I like, a city so beautiful and majestic that I fall in love with it anew every morning (though perhaps groan at its traffic at night). Then three months ago BANG, shockwaves!!!!!

I’ve attempted to set aside all the most complicating factors in my life, or so I thought. I ditched the political career, quit music consulting, and just decided to accept a regular Joe job. I figure I can just enjoy my life a little now and smell the roses. Perhaps it’s just that I am twenty-six, but it’s as if there are things I so deeply desire in my life that I feel short of breath at the mere thought of their absence. What are they? Good question…let’s run a list.

Intellectual stimulation – I need challenge. I need to be surrounded by people with whom I can discuss books and music and law and government, fine wine and movies. Ya know, stuff I like.

Intimacy – I’m talking the real stuff. The kinds of relationships with people that let you speak to them, really. Close together, spatially and shoot right from the hip.

Family – I don’t have one anymore. Time with them is the thing I desire more than anything, I think.

Culture – I am a creature of internationalism. I am anything but white-bread. I can not subsist on a culture of norms and status quo.

God - the most important of all needs. It is that force which drives my search for the four previous desires and, at the same time, confounds me. It leads me to question what I am destined for and what I must consider an acceptable opportunity cost to achieve it.

So why create a list as “heavy” as this?

I’ve just spent the weekend in Dayton, Ohio *enter long blank stare and the sound of crickets rioting*. I will admit I was rendered completely claustrophobic by all the wide-open spaces and huge industrial plants. I felt ridiculous but couldn’t help wondering to myself, good grief where in the heck would a girl get a decent set of highlights and pedicure around here? And even if she could find them, who would ever know?! They’d be hidden under her hard hat and steel-tipped Doc Martens!

But then there is the question of him. (Of course there is a man involved.) We’ll just call him the Prospect. He’s tall, decent looking, has a good heart and a real love of life. Oh, and did I mention, he really likes me. He’s the settling type, a family man in the making. A lot of his closest friends have wives. Almost all have steady girlfriends. He speaks to those things on my list, which I feel I desire in my life most.

He is close with his fraternity brothers and remains exuberant about his college days. He talks with his parents often. He’s educated and appreciates art, beauty and a cold beer with a simultaneous and fluid adaptation. The Prospect works hard at his job because he truly likes it. He’s quirky in an endearing fashion and is floored by my capacity to read his body language. Again, he feeds my need to set up intimacy.

However, he’s contented in his mid-western surroundings and is acutely aware of my instant culture shock the first night I arrive. Perhaps it was the cool manner with which certain friends of his treated me. Perhaps it was that they could not seem to understand why I spoke of politics and wore a pashmina and Vera Wang perfume instead of Eddie Bauer and Vanilla Fields.

I am an initial outcast; too smart and way too metropolitan for their tastes. A night at the fancy Irish Pub serves as the living end of fine dining in their realm. When he visited DC we took him for Ethiopian cuisine and outdoor dancing at the Reagan Building pavilion. But, to be fair, I reflect back to the rooftop hotel jazz bar we sat in that first night in Ohio. Lovely low lights with a view of downtown Dayton. (mainly parking garages and non-descript edifices)I sat there, swilling Cabernet, as they drank Zinfandel and Budweiser. One drank Merlot, but grasped the stem of the glass as though it were a lollipop handle. I stifled a chuckle.

My thoughts drifted to a similar rooftop bar view I’d seen from the top of the Ritz Carlton in Pentagon City. The Capital Dome, Washington Monument and all of Downtown DC glittering in the panoramic distance. I relay this view verbally to the Prospect who blinks and nods in non-committal fashion.

Oh my word I’m a snob!!!! But I feel as if it’s a nurtured thing. I don’t mean to be perceived as believing I’m of a superior frame of mind. I think that it’s just that, unlike the other 5 people at this table, have seen most of Europe, shopped in the market in the Old City on David Street in Jerusalem and seen Broadway musicals on Broadway. I grew up in New Jersey for pity’s sake! It was right there. Those are MY only bases for comparison. I’ve never felt so stupid for sounding so “smart.”

My absolute confusion and angst derives, lately, from a true desire for familial attributes to my life and the unavoidable blockade to this reality. For starters, MY WHOLE LIFE!!!

I am what one might call a debutante, educated by the best to work for and with the elite. Sometimes I’ll admit that lends itself to my feeling like a trained seal. Lately it makes me feel like I have no way of communicating with regular people. I like fine wine (and don’t have to pay more than 9 dollars a bottle b/c I know the difference between what is good and what is just pricey). But even that is a product of actually taking a viticulture course in Burgundy itself. Oy!

I am a showpiece; an unintentional braggart. I have limited means of interacting with people from the Mid-west who have no concept of a life like the one I’ve lead. Up until this past weekend I felt mediocre, same as everyone I knew. I thought I hated it. I was wrong.

I know for a fact that the men I have met in the greater DC-Metro area are much like the, ahem, ‘gentlemen’ I attended graduate school with. We referred to them as “men who believed they were currency on two legs.” I rolled my eyes a lot. Self-importance, I think, is one of the great intimacy killers. I know that I prefer to marry a simple man who can latently appreciate some of the finer things in life for their own sake, not for the sake of status or erudition. That is my honest approach to these same things.

My dilemma lies in the fact that I can’t even speak to men like this for the most part. Simple men that is. Why not?? I scare the hell out of them or come across as “high-maintenance,” or at least, snobby. I’m not snobby. I just, ya know, had pushy parents who made me do all kinds of brainy stuff as a kid. Like that’s MY fault. I’m feeling moderately annoyed at the fact that my educated upbringing saddles me with a need to apologize for that which my first life lessons predisposed me.

Oh it’s not just men. My own godmother has disowned me for reasons which, until recent years, escaped me. All my formative years were spent with members of my family whispering to me how bright I was and how I should go here and do this and what an intelligent young lady I was. How they bragged. Frankly it was embarrassing! But as I grew and gained diploma after diploma, what was once pride was quickly replaced with reproach, as if to say, “Humph, just who do you think YOU are, Miss Smarty-pants?” Well that’s just great.

By about my freshman year of college, I realized I liked being smart. It felt right. I didn’t like not knowing things or not being able to offer relevant and interesting contributions to discussions and research. I’m hardwired like that. I have no problem with that. It’s what has always been expected of me and now it’s what I expect of me.


I’ll never forget my first semester freshman public speaking class where a boy named Dan Ferisse, who continually sniggered each time I spoke, said the following when I asked him what his problem with me was. He’d said, “why do you have to sound so smart all the time?” with a wry grin on his plump face. I shook my head and very levelly replied, “Why do you have to be so negative all the time? At least I’m productive.”

Years later I’d meet Brian. He’s a dear friend and had, at first, been a romantic interest. We talked often and he pointed out how he enjoyed being challenged by my intellect. The caveat always came, however, when we spoke of significant others, that I probably was still single because, and I’ll quote him directly, that, I’m “too intelligent, too quick and too witty. It’s a turn off sometimes. Guys don’t like to feel intimidated.”

This conversation, though it had me looking at my calendar to, in fact, be sure it was not 1953, called up the same old question. Smart outspoken women are under appreciated and avoided or castigated because they use the gift they are given. If Jessica Simpson, who, in my humble opine, cannot find a coherent intellectual thought with two hands and a flashlight, forevermore uses her beautiful voice to sing, no one will knock on her all that much. True, she’s goofed about using all the requisite blond jokes, but she has a hunky hubby, a fat bank account and all the nice things in life. Why? Pretty and sings.

Now most of the female population does not look like Jessica Simpson or even Marge Simpson (thankfully), but what I know to be true is that if it were a man, whose pursuits were intellectual he’d be considered a renaissance man or an aficionado of some kind rather than a snob or a know-it-all. Okay, okay let’s not go down that road. You’re right. I’m not a feminist; I’m a humanist. I like people and believe if you have a gift it should be appreciated rather than scoffed at.

So here I sit, missing the Prospect. Unable to get my mind off the whole weekend I fluctuate from looking at job postings in Ohio to feeling claustrophobic at the thought of the entire state of Ohio.

What do I do? I feel short of breath at the thought of forgetting about the Prospect and starting over. Perhaps I’m getting ahead of myself. Mostly I’m afraid that whatever it is I have been raised to become was a mistake.

I have no niche. I am not skinny, rich and/or the daughter or some well-known professionals. But I have two bachelors and two masters degrees in business, international relations and government. This means I can be somebody’s administrative assistant in DC speak.

But I can’t hang out with regular blue-collar folks either. Why? Because I have two bachelors and two masters degrees in business, international relations and government. And these people pigeonhole me as someone who will pigeonhole them before even asking if I mind drinking light beer. (Make it a Coors Light thanks).

Not erudite enough for the erudite and too smart for the commoners. Is this an actual sect of the human race, or am I and others like me just the mal-contented enigmas who live in limbo?

How much of one part of my life and personality must someone in this situation sacrifice or view as opportunity cost to fit-in with one side or the other? Does a choice need to be made at all? Why can neither extreme acquiesce to my middle? Do they?

All the while I dream of an empathetic spouse and warmly lit home in the country to which I can return after a long day of work at a job I love for a glass of dark red Burgundy wine and a meat and potatoes meal.

A divine and elusive juxtaposition.