“Only those who will risk going too far can possibly find out how far one can go.” — T. S. Eliot
This past week, I had a rare chance to spend a whirlwind day in New York City, covering a major event for a writing gig. Yes, dear readers, I’m seeing other people. It was a last-minute opportunity, and the arrangements lined up perfectly, but it was the kind of day with many moving parts, all of which had to happen at precisely the right time for everything to work.
First, there was the transportation. I’m lucky to have a dear friend who works for an airline, and could get me a “Buddy Pass.” There was no way it would happen without this access, but Buddy Pass travel is on standby. You show up for a flight, and maybe you go, and maybe you don’t. As if air travel today isn’t stressful enough, let’s throw in that you don’t know until they call your name 10 minutes before departure if you’re going or staying home. This is torture for someone like me, who likes to be at the gate, staring at the jetway four hours before the pilot is even out of bed.
Despite some delays, I was able to get to LaGuardia. From there, I wound my way through massive crowds to a car service that whisked me through the city traffic while I stared out the window like some country bumpkin, gawking at everything.
I arrived at the event with five minutes to spare. The venue was an exquisite city hotel, and I walked in, rocking my $20 dress from a thrift store and boring flat shoes since I didn’t want to risk wearing my precious red stiletto heels and add a faceplant to the day’s events. I was surrounded by people wearing vintage Chanel, carrying Hermés bags, and wearing enough bling to signal passing satellites in space.
There was barely time to put on lip gloss before diving right into interviewing and gathering facts. Servers in white coats passed champagne around, of course, and the views of the city were iconic. Now I know how Dorothy must have felt upon landing in Oz. I met a few celebrities, and I managed to remember my name and only snort-laughed once. I did mess up one person’s name, however, and I’m hoping that because I’m a nobody, she won’t remember the foolish remark I made when I thought she was someone else.
When the event ended, I had just enough time to stop in the hotel bar since a friend told me it was something I shouldn’t miss. It was terrific, and the martini was lovely, even if it did cost $42. No lie; in New York City, there exists a martini that costs that much. I took the cocktail napkin as a souvenir since I had no time to shop.
Then it was back in another rideshare car and off to the other airport, JFK. Fun fact: The hotel I was at was a favorite of President John F. Kennedy, so it seemed fitting to fly out of that airport. It was also the last flight of the day. I made it to the gate with minutes to spare and was jetting my way home after a day like no other.
The night before I left, I lay awake, thinking, “Why do I think I can do this? What is wrong with me? What have I got myself into?” Well, I was partially correct. I’d never done this kind of work, but there’s a first time for everything, right? My parents taught me basic manners, and I’d showered and everything, so I would have to begin as I meant to go on, with purpose, hard work, and the attitude of an Irish girl on a mission.
Just a month ago, I would never have considered this kind of assignment and never imagined even being offered an opportunity like this. But I was, and it happened, and despite a few blips, it worked out well. Besides learning to take notes at a cocktail party and navigate two major airports, I discovered I’m not the social or fashion disaster I’ve always thought I was. I mean, I’m no Emily Post, but I can hang.
The lesson in this was, even if you think you can’t, try anyway. You might find you’re not quite the dork you thought you were. At least, that was my lesson. I’m ready for anything now, what’s next?
Brenda Kelley Kim has lived in Marblehead for 50 years, and is an author, freelance writer, and mother of three. Her column appears weekly.