.....the impossible

Yogis,
There is a neighborhood in Washington DC called Adams Morgan. A culturally diverse area with a large Latino population and two main streets lined with restaurants, stores, bars and small businesses. This section of DC comprised a big chunk of my first sales territory with Xerox.

Earlier this month I began weekly tutoring for an adorable first grader. His school sits in the heart of Adams Morgan. As I have been driving around in search of those elusive parking spaces and walking past the old buildings, many memories are flooding in.

The year was 1983. Fresh out of college and 21 years old I completed training and was made a New Business Marketing Rep (a fancy name for door-to-door salesperson.) My job was to sell copiers and typewriters to the small businesses along these defined city streets.

Back then you were required to report to the office at 8 am sharp, makes some calls, do some paperwork and then head into your territory for the day. The car console filled to the brim with quarters for the meters and my briefcase in hand, I would knock on doors. In a suit. With stockings. And high heeled pumps.

Now for those of you who had to squeeze your feet into pumps daily, you will be able to relate. You are walking along, looking oh so professional, when suddenly your shoe stops and you walk right out of it. The skinny heel stuck in a grate or between the cobble stones. You hobble back to release it and hope the heel isn’t broken. And of course, you always had the clear nail polish in the car for that sudden run in your stockings that got longer and more unsightly with each step you took.

Six months later, add a pregnancy to the mix.

Now I am walking up and down the stairs of these rowhouse buildings, at times carrying a typewriter, with an increasingly protruding belly. Still in heels. And speaking of pantyhose…….I can still distinctly feel that sensation of the waist band suddenly beginning its descent, not stopping until it was beneath the rounded belly with the stockings hanging down between my legs. As I continued on with my sales pitch to the decision maker it felt like I was wearing a diaper. I didn’t miss a beat.

Three times I worked through my pregnancies, heading back a mere six weeks later as if there wasn’t a scrawny helpless infant at home who had only recently exited my body in dramatic fashion. The same one who had me up at 2 am that morning. The same one who had me in tears alone in my car.

Pumping in the public restrooms. Milk drawing a bull’s eye pattern on my blouse while in a meeting. The occasional smell of spit up on my wool suit from the morning feedings. Looking for a pay phone to check in with the babysitter.

I look back and think ‘how did I possibly do it?’.

My cousin is in the thick of it right now and recently posted this quote from Tina Fey.

“I think every working mom probably feels the same thing: You go through big chunks of time where you’re just thinking, ‘This is impossible - oh, this is impossible.’ And then you just keep going and keep going, and you sort of do the impossible.”

Yes. It was impossible, but yes we keep going. Because we have to. Because we are strong. Because the world desperately needs us women. This note is a nod to all of you out there. I see you.

Or the day I realized I was wearing two different color shoes,
SARAH