We met in my chamber room. Two high wing-backed, well-cushioned chairs with a small table in between instantly appeared in front of the windows. Both chairs had soft blankets laid across the back and small pillows in the seats. I offer Kathleen, “Coffee, tea, water…?”
Her response was, “Bourbon.” Yup, that seems about right.
Kathleen is tall and built like a volleyball player. Her long blonde hair is pulled back into a ponytail at the nape of her neck. Her energy and her presence fill the room. It precedes her. It is a forthright, masculine, attention-grabbing energy. People always notice her and never dismiss her. She walks in, and everyone looks; she knows it and uses it. She acknowledges it is a combination of both her parents. She knows how to play the feminine game if/when she absolutely has to, but she learned the masculine game from her father. Find the person’s strength and use it against them.
She looks at me as we sit in the chairs, sipping on our bourbon, “You aren’t who I expected to be writing my story.”
“Why?” I ask.
“Because … you seem so quiet, timid.”
I gently smile. I can see why that may be Kathleen’s perspective, especially with my current presentation. “No, there is a time I wanted to be just like you. A lawyer, who that when I walked into the courtroom, my clients knew they were safe and the opposing party knew they were in for a fight.”
“What changed?”
“No one thing changed. Many little things changed that were the stepping stones to where I am now. Do you know we are soul fragments of each other?”
At first, Kathleen looks a bit puzzled. I can see the thoughts pass through her mind, is this girl crazy? But as she sits with it, it starts to feel right.
“That is why I want to help tell your and Kellina’s story. The three of us are pieces of each other’s soul in different lives, times, and dimensions. You and I are the closest together in potential dimensional timelines that I am currently aware of. Maybe that is why I have been having a more challenging time getting a feel for your world. Can we talk about your story?”
“Sure,” as she takes another sip of bourbon. I, too, sip, gathering my thoughts.
My impression is the version of Kathleen before me is from before my book starts. “Am I correct that you are around age 44?”
She looks at me skeptically, “How do you know that? Most people guess I am in my 30s. “
“You certainly don’t look like you are 44, but would you guess I am 48?”
She shakes her head no. We both sip in unison.
“What do you feel is your ultimate challenge right now?” I ask.
She takes a very deep breath, stares into her drink, and starts swirling it around. “Damn, you aren’t messing around here, are you?”
“Nope.”
“Okay. I hate that I feel like I am constantly wearing a suit of armor. It is a suit of anger and hatred and disdain. I hate that I feel trapped in this cycle.”
“Cycle?”
“In Boston, we basically have 2 seasons. Winter and Spring/Summer. Fall and spring only last about a week. But honestly, the only reason I notice the seasons is because I take notice to know what coat to wear and what shoes to wear. Other than that. Nothing, and I mean nothing, changes.
I work 6 days a week. The shortest day is 10 hours, and the longest is 14 hours. Times that we are going to trial, I am at the office for the entire two weeks.
I work in a male-dominated field of corporate law, specifically mergers and acquisitions. I will negotiate almost every man, woman, and child under the table, and they will give me exactly what my client wants. Most of the time, I can do it without them realizing they have done it.”
“Do you enjoy it?”
“I enjoy the power of it. I enjoy the prestige and looks, the fear. But am I happy? No. Honestly, I don’t know what happiness is, let alone feels like. That is one of my biggest challenges right now. How do I feel fulfilled? How do I meet my purpose? Oh fuck, do I sound cliché. I want to lay down the suit.
I want to feel like I am truly looking at myself when I look in the mirror. Not an actor or looking at a mask I put on to fill this role. I thought this would bring me happiness.
I became the corporate lawyer that my father could not. I got the apartment in center city, highest floor; it looks like it came out of a magazine. I walk into and wonder who lives there because it can’t be me. I have lived there for 6 years now. It doesn’t feel like home. But why should it? I am never there except to sleep, watch a game on TV or movie, fuck, and go back to work.
I dreamed of having maids come in and take care of my home. I have that now. Does it matter? Fuck no. At least when I bring someone home, I know the place will be nice. But no one comes over for more than two, maybe three nights max, and they are not fucking staying for breakfast.
I created this persona that I thought would get me to that next level.
Once I reached partner at the firm, I would have made it. Once I got the apartment, I would have made it. Once I negotiated the most prominent international business deal, I made it. No.
I have a lot of money in my bank accounts, but it doesn’t do me any good. I am just going through the motions. I get some gratification from crushing my colleagues at work, especially the new associates. Every win at court is …nice. Other than that. There is nothing. I am getting tired of this game. I have no idea who I am underneath all of this. No clue at all.”
“What do you think you need to get your life on your path? Get a chance to live in a way you look forward to getting up every day?”
“I have enough money saved up that I could retire right now. However, I have no idea what I would do with myself. Travel?” Kathleen said snidely
.
“Okay, so traditional retirement isn’t an option. That is fine. What else would you want to do?”
“I don’t know. All my old friends have their white picket fence lives, and it makes me sick. Not because I want it but because I can’t imagine that for myself.”
“What would your ultimate dream life look like? What would it look like if you had a magic wand and created any world for yourself, where you could do and be anything you want?”
“I am going to have to think on that.”
“That is fair. Please do. When we meet again, I would love to discuss it more. I have a few ideas for you to contemplate when you want to hear them.”
“Sounds good.” She downs the last drops of bourbon and puts the glass in the sink. Looking over at me with a smile and a very contemplative look in her eye, she walked out.
I look forward to our next meeting.