Ode to V
If you've read some of my previous articles, you'd know I have a day job (aside from my mom job) for ten hours a day during weekdays. If this is the first article you're reading of mine, welcome! And that's my scenario. Now that we're all on the same page, I'll just get down to it.
In my office works a woman we'll call V. Another thing we can call V: my saving grace Monday through Friday.
V is one of the first people I see in the office. No matter how busy things are, she always passes by me with a beaming smile and a heart-felt "good morning!" This may not sound like much to you, but this isn't the status quo in my office. Co-workers often go all day without communicating socially accepted greetings or salutations, such as good morning or good night. No, I'm not kidding. It's just the nature of the business I'm in.
Which brings me back to V's good morning and why it stands out. In the same way that my morning coffee cup (make that three cups) gets me going, V's "good morning" warms my heart. It's become a workday staple I've grown attached to and don't think I can go without.
I'm embarrassed to say that I don't think I've ever told V how much it means to me, hearing her say that simple phrase each day. How uplifting it is, and how I've grown to depend on it. It's so simple really, but extremely meaningful. She sincerely wants it for me. Each and every day, V's concerned that I have a good morning. And I have to tell you, each and every day it's really nice to hear. It never gets old, and I don't think it ever will.
Beyond the good mornings, V and I have grown to become good friends. And aside from relying on her for my morning pick-me-up, I'm grateful that she provides me with wisdom, insight, and humor about my life. V is around my age, and her two children are about ten years older than my daughter, the twenty-month old. She's someone who's been where I am, and come through it not only OK, but also with style and flair. I specifically mention flair because she styles herself impeccably. When I asked her how she does it, she answered, "Easy, I don't have a toddler at home ... DUH!!!" (Did I mention she's hilarious?)
Therein lies the true beauty and essence of V. She doesn't assume that my tired face, tired clothes or frizzy hair should look any other way. According to her, my daughter essentially gives me a stylish get-out-of-jail-free card. V gets it, and she accepts me freely and without judgment...but she always has tips. And you know, quite frankly, I could use the tips, so that's OK.
I don't have to fake anything when I'm around V. She can see in my eyes if I feel triumphant or like a failure. If I'm kicking butt or am getting whipped around helplessly by life, like a piece of paper in a windstorm. And it's all OK with her. She'll listen if I need her to and won't talk to me if I don't feel like it. But she'll still pass by with her "good morning" just for me and a special arm squeeze as a bonus that day. And when I need a bigger squeeze, she is there for that too. When she hugs me, it's as though she passes on her strength, calm and common sense, and I know everything will be all right.
Everyday I try to be the best mom, woman, wife, and co-worker I can be. But I am (and perhaps always will be) a work in progress: a painting which some days is abstract and blurry and other days beautiful and vibrant, but all days perpetually changing. Each new day brings a new stroke or color to the canvas that is me. And to me, V is the easel that my painting rests on. Perhaps going unnoticed by others while they observe the beauty or mess that I am that day, but always there. Strong, full of purpose and point, and holding me securely in place. And wearing a fabulous bag and fantastic shoes. AndI am grateful for her.
V, you rock my world. Thank you for being you!
Author: Amy
