The Transformation

Oh, why couldn’t Susan be a little more responsible. She lived her life with not a care-in world and left it to me to clean up the mess that she left behind. Honestly, I was tired of being the parent to my wayward younger sister, who was nearing thirty. With a sigh, I reached to switch off the lamp on my night stand. 

However, thoughts of Susan’s latest conundrum ran rampant in my head and no matter how many sheep I counted, sleep alluded me. I wondered how two siblings, separated by only two years, could be so different. I prided myself on my organized lifestyle. On any given day, my planner was meticulously penned accounting for each minute of the day. I woke up every morning knowing how my day would pan out and also made preparations for any contingency that might arise. I had a well- paying job at a leading architecture firm and owned a flat in a coveted neighborhood in the heart of the city. I was engaged to a male version of myself, Patrick. Life would be nothing but smooth with two planners at the realm. I congratulated myself on achieving a lot by my early thirties.

On the other hand, I shuddered at the thought of how Susan lived her life. Her life had no plan or direction. Crazily enough, she didn’t even own a planner. She lived merely by following one passion or the other. She took jobs that caught her fancy. And she fell in love on a whim. And because of the lack of planning sometimes things did not end too well. I remember the summer a few years ago when she got obsessed with painting. She packed her bags and moved to Paris. Unfortunately, she had to take up lodging with some struggling artists in Montmartre. 

I visited her once and was appalled to see the squalor she was living in. But she seemed oblivious to it all, insisting that she was loving every minute of it. I still stand by my belief that her falling in love with that most unsuitable Italian was nothing but an escape from those terrible living conditions. He whisked her off to Italy with promises of endless sunshine and romance and Susan ended up in a dilapidated 500-year old villa. She helped him repair it with the little money she had made with the sale of a painting or two. They started to run the old mansion as a Bed and Breakfast. Susan gave up painting and took on cooking with an equal gusto.

 The enterprise was actually doing well but a year later Susan wrote to tell me that she had found thelove of her life, Robert. She was no longer living in Tuscany but was now living in Oxford, where Robert was quite the expert on Romantic poets. He’d been a guest at the villa and she been swept away by his charm. She went on to write that she was intending to pursue a degree in Literature, which had always been a passion with her. 

“Becky: Life has to be lived passionately or else you are living half a life.” Was her favorite quip. 

Oh Susan, why can’t you be more like me? On that exhausted thought sleep overcame me. 

The next morning I woke up to sunshine dancing in my room. With a smile, I leapt out of bed and found myself staring at the black eyes of a blue jay who was sitting on my window sill.  

“Hello, young fella! Isn’t it such a glorious day?” I asked him. He studied me carefully, then bobbed his black crowned head in agreement and then took off. 

 I skipped to my closet and opened the door. I was in the mood for something summery- maybe a dress in chiffon or muslin would be perfect, befitting my warm state of mind.

Horror of horrors what kind of clothes were these? Hanger after hanger of dark, dreary clothes with stiff collars and straight lines. What kind of a drab person was I? Not a speck of romance could be found in anything that stared back at me. I possibly could not wear a pin-striped business suit on a day like this! I dug through my closet and then I saw a flash of hot pink. Relief…I pulled it out. It was the cotton dress painted with delicate butterflies that Susan had given to me a few years ago. Why had I abhorred the darling dress and buried it deep in my closet?

Everyone could tell that there was something different about me and heads turned in appreciation as I entered my workplace. Normally, I had no time for small talk, and walk straight to my office but today I wanted to talk and laugh and spread some cheer. 

I asked Charlotte, the office secretary, how her newborn was. I was surprised to hear that the daughter was now five years old. Time certainly flies.

“You are brimming with joy today,” said Charlotte. “And it’s spilling over to all of us.” 

I smiled. That was the best thing I’d heard in a long time.

“Aren’t you dressed a little too flamboyantly for our big client meeting today?” asked Jack. “You’ll knock their socks off and we will get the contract for sure.”

Normally I would have been insulted, but I wasn’t going to kill my happiness by his sexist remark. I laughed back and he joined in. 

The hour of the big meeting was soon approaching and I looked at my notes to make sure there was nothing that I had missed. My presentation was filled with facts and figures that I had spent countless hours researching. But my instinct said something was lacking. 

Jack and I put out our most aggressive sales pitch, armed with the plans and research to back it up. If we got the contract, we would definitely be in the big league. However, the client, a renowned philanthropist, stared on impassively.  

I was beginning to get a little disconcerted, I could tell the client wasn’t impressed. We could not afford to lose this account. My phone flashed a message from Susan on its screen. From the corner of my eye, the only word I could make out clearly waspassion. 

Yes, that was it! Our presentation was cold and impersonal, it lacked passion. Charged with a renewed determination, I started afresh. I talked about a development that integrated my two big passions-  helping people with limited resources and environment- friendly- designed, affordable housing. As I stood there speaking, I once again became the idealist young me who had become an architect not for the fame or the money, but to revolutionize designing. 

I met Patrick at our favorite bar after work. He had already ordered our usual, two Tom Collins and tonic. 

I was in a mood for a Martini instead. We talked about work, he talked about our plans for the future. The plans were starting to weigh me down. 

“Let’s spend a year in Europe.” I said, excitedly. “Remember how we’d always wanted to backpack across Europe and study the architecture of the old Masters.”

A light lit in Patrick’s eyes and he reached for my hand.