the other megan

I have been working at the museum for almost 4 years now.

So, when Meghan (notice the “h”) started working part-time in the education department I wasn’t too worried. After all, she was a nice girl, we got along well, and since we didn’t work together all the time, I figured there would be little confusion.

There have been a few moments when both of us have been walking down the hall, or when both of us are standing in the same room, and upon hearing someone say, “Megan” — we both turn around or look up. Not a big deal — usually a light-hearted moment ensues afterward and its a nice break in the day of serious working.

But then two conversations happened:

#1 — I called a co-worker outside of work. She had me labelled in her phone as “Megan – Museum”. Understandable. I do the same thing when I know someone more by the location we meet, than by their last name. So when I called asking for help in finding a store where I could purchase felting needles, all she knew was that I was a Megan she knew from work. We talked for a bit and then she asked me something about some upcoming tours, and I was confused. “What are you talking about?” I said.
“Oh! This isn’t Meghan with an ‘H’?”
“Nope”
“I’m sorry — I thought you were her!”

#2 — I called in sick to work. I wasn’t feeling well and I called in to say that I wouldn’t be coming in. The staff member I spoke to listened to what I had to say and then asked if I wanted to speak to the Education Curator about it. “Why would I want to speak to him?” I asked and then continued, “If you want to connect me to the Exhibits Curator, then I can talk to him about it…”

“Oh!” she said suddenly, “It’s the other Megan. Sorry, I thought you were Meghan — the one who works in education.”

The OTHER MEGAN?!?

How had I been downgraded to “the other” anything? I’ve been working here AT LEAST three and half years longer than her, and suddenly after a few months, I’m the other one?

I felt like I’d entered some bizarre science fiction movie — the ones where a doppelganger from an alternate universe finds a hole in the fabric of time and comes into this world only to find the protagonist and take over their perfect life.  I felt pushed to the side — had all my years meant nothing?

I didn’t want to be “the other” anything. But, as I discovered, it really isn’t up to me. I can’t go into everyone’s brains and re-wire it so that everyone at work automatically thinks of me first — although I did think briefly that it would be fun to try… hmmmmm…

Have you ever felt displaced? Why?

holiday overbooking

Ahhhh… Christmastime! A time of joy and laughter and beautifully clothed carolers singing about wasail and presents!

Growing up, I fell in love with the idea of Christmas — a time of year when everything took on a new sheen – a bright new personality, a time of year when people thought of others and a general kindness filled the air.

I always thought that the older I got the more my life would resemble this holiday dream, but I find that each year becomes more and more filled with obligations, duties and projects!

NEVER ENDING PROJECTS!!!

And rather than be entranced by the beautiful lights, the delicious fudge, and the sound of Bing Crosby’s “White Christmas”, I am filled with an innate dread as the date of Christmas comes inexorably closer, because it has become a deadline — a deadline for all those presents and projects to be finished.

And I suppose it shouldn’t bother me so much, but I feel the weight of expectation hang heavily. It speaks in a deep, dark whisper…

“If you don’t get Aunt Such-And-Such or Co-worker Andynonymous that special card or gift, then they will think you don’t care… they will think that you despise them…”

And part of the problem is my own expectations. I can’t simply do as many others do and sign a card — I must put a unique and special message inside! What is the use of a card if it doesn’t actually say anything? I can’t just buy a cocoa mug gift set from KMart — I must find something that signifies I know something about that person’s likes and dislikes. It doesn’t have to be “the perfect gift”, but it better be pretty close!

So, inevitably I get so busy, I run out of time, and end up giving gifts and cards to only half the people I wanted to… would people prefer any card (even a non-personalized one) to none at all? Would you?

my reflection

Perhaps I was naive, but I honestly thought this week wouldn’t be too difficult. Yes, there was the problem of putting on make-up without actually seeing what I was doing, but I thought that would be about it… right?

The biggest problem was avoidance. Since when did so many wall-length mirrors get put in? It was almost as if I couldn’t walk 10 steps without running into a huge mirror! My tiny apartment was the only building I stepped into regularly that didn’t have a mirror in the bathroom the size of a colossus. I suddenly felt out of vogue.

You might think that going a whole week without looking seriously at myself would make fashion and style a bit less relevant – and it might have, if I’d had the fortune to be cloistered in a nunnery with simple walls and gardens and women who all wore the same outfit. But I was still a part of society and I could only gauge my looks by what other people’s gaze told me. I no longer had my own barometer, my own weathervane, my own Geiger counter, so their opinion was all I had.

And as every anorexic teenager can testify — basing your self-view purely on everyone else’s view is never a good idea.

I have to confess that I did cheat a little bit. Because I felt just so “blah” I had to go shopping. And not just any shopping. I had to go shopping for clothes. And I couldn’t shop for clothes without looking into a mirror at all! I justified the offense by only looking at the clothes – not at my face or hair, which only made me feel strangely disembodied, like some headless horseman. But the headless horseman found some jeans that made its butt look good, so who needed a head?

Perhaps the worst part of the week was that I felt like I was avoiding myself. Whenever I happened to catch my own eye, my first thought was always, “She looks familiar! … oh, its me – of course she’s familiar stupid! Now look away!” I was avoiding my own face as though it were illegal. And as a result I lost some of that bitter, yet insightful self-contemplation that happens when you look at yourself in the mirror.

It usually happens when I am washing my face. I wet, wash & scrub and then rinse. As the water falls in shiny drops down my face, I keep my eyes closed until I feel the soft towel press against my face. Then I look up and I look into — well, I look into me. I take in the eyes, the brows, the small scar that resides just below my lip, and I think about all the things I am doing. I think about what I am, what I have been, and what I really want to be…what I really want that reflection to look like when it looks back at me.

THIS WEEK: A week without cookies, cake or candy! (or any baked dessert)