New Balance

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I have a theory about necklaces. It makes no difference if they’re made of glass, gold, platinum or plastic. No matter how awkward or hurried the outfit is that you are wearing, the moment you place a necklace around your­ neck, you look, well—put together. That’s why I have a drawer full of dime-store strands ready to go. One of these trinkets can make a thrown-together outfit look like an on-purpose ensemble, even if you’re falling apart at the seams on the inside. That’s why this simple exercise in accessorizing has become one of my most treasured habits.

Micah was at my feet, pulling on my skirt, wanting to be picked up. With my baby now riding my hip, I had no time (or for that matter, an available appendage) for anything major in the way of hair and make-up. I ran my fingers through my wet, curly hair. I tugged on my bangs in an attempt to look coiffed. I snatched a string of iridescent plastic beads from the velvet-lined jewelry drawer of my white wooden chest. I used my free hand to throw the strand around my neck. It fell perfectly into place. We were out the door and off to playgroup.

As we whizzed by my home office, papers fluttered across the top of my hopelessly buried desk. As we headed down the stairs, I could hear the computer’s anti-virus program whistle and whir as it kicked into an automatic virus scan. I’m not going to think about work right now, I said to myself while nuzzling my nose into Micah’s plump, delicious neck.

But with gas prices sky-high, nursery school on the horizon and a household without a steady income, sometimes work is all I can think about. Sometimes all I do is rifle through the mental to-do list that piles up in my brain. I desperately try to be present in every moment I have with my toddler son; I know that this time is precious and fleeting. I hate being somewhere else in my head when the only place I want to be is with the baby in my arms.

But I also want to be the woman I once was: the woman with a job, a paycheck and a flawless manicure. The woman who sat across from CEOs of Fortune 500 corporations in their big oak board rooms surrounded by hand-painted composites of important old men. There I was, in my pencil skirt, fitted blazer and pointy crocodile high heels guiding JDs, MBAs and PhDs through a communications crisis. And with those hectic, full workdays came the reward of financial independence (who do you think paid for those over-the-top high heels?). I liked earning my own money. I enjoyed adhering to my own schedule. I liked getting up every day with the hopes of leaving a professional and intellectual footprint in the world.