Wisdom Creeps Up
Wisdom Creeps Up
With age comes wisdom, or so I have been told. It doesn’t arrive in a lightning bolt. It creeps in slowly. It’s the unpleasant realization you can no longer ignore. Wisdom is more like the wedgie that has been creeping up on you all day. It is now an uncomfortable thong that you are desperate to find a discreet corner to pull it out, all while maintaining a small amount of dignity.
I was stuck in a room. Shaking hands. Smiling. Greeting people. Making idle conversation. Feigning interest in others' pursuits. Asking curious questions and responding with too much enthusiasm at times. I remember repeatedly trying to excuse myself to the restroom to address my wardrobe situation, yet the closer I got to those glorious doors, the farther they seemed. When I reached my breaking point, I excused myself from a conversation, with my phone in hand, using the classic escape clause, “I have an urgent matter to attend to."
In the bathroom, I breathed a sigh of relief. I adjusted my clothing, reapplied my makeup, and took a long look in the mirror. What was I doing? I didn’t like the job or the people. My high heels were killing me. Could anyone outside the bathroom walls see how phony I felt? For a moment, I wondered if any of them might feel the same way. I quickly dismissed that idea. The jewelry was real. The suits were tailored. Their confidence looked inherited. I felt like I had snuck in through a side entrance.
As I walked back into the room, dewedgified, I felt more comfortable yet less confident. I headed to the bar for a respectable glass of white wine. While sipping my drink, I absorbed the scene at the rooftop restaurant overlooking the city. It was an elegant room, lit with tiny lights and candles that cast a soft yellowish glow around the high-top tables, adorned with subtle flowers and greenery.
As I looked around, I saw beautiful people talking in small groups, politely shaking their heads or waving their hands to indicate they could not possibly eat the decadent hors d’oeuvres being offered.
That was the moment. I set my wine glass down and quickly left the room. It was suddenly so clear. I felt like Judd Nelson walking across the football field after Saturday detention, fist in the air, no longer interested in playing the part assigned to him.
Somewhere along the way, I confused professionalism with self-erasure.
The clarity washed over me. I no longer wanted to sit at the “cool kids' table”. Realizing I no longer needed to belong there felt like relief.
I had been politely playing my role for so long; I wasn’t sure where to find the real me. The joy in my work had always been in helping others succeed. Yet as I sat in my hotel room, I realized I was spending more energy managing egos and selfish motives than helping people. I was tired of restraining my words, thoughts, and actions. I had enough of working with peers who were all too eager to throw each other under the bus.
I was raised in the “work it out for yourself” generation. We learned to be agreeable, dependable, and low-maintenance. Figure it out. Don't complain. Work harder. Smile more. We became experts at adapting to whatever room we walked into. The problem is, if you spend enough years adapting, you eventually forget what comes naturally.
I have learned that being universally liked is not a sustainable career strategy. Using my voice is less about losing a filter and more about trusting myself without apology. Wisdom is discernment, choosing when to use my voice and doing so with purpose.
I have spent too much of my life playing roles. I am done internalizing externally assigned labels.
Experience has taught me that we are rarely defined by a single label. Like The Breakfast Club, we are all more than an athlete, a princess, or a criminal.
I don’t need to be louder.
The wisdom that crept in was this: it is far more interesting to be honest.
Wisdom isn’t about knowing more.
It’s about tolerating less.
I am too old to wear uncomfortable underwear.
And I am done pretending.
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