This book has been on my to-read list ever since it came out. I wanted a sneak peek into one of our First Ladies, one that I had grown up with, one that I could connect more with. My mom has a love for Jackie Kennedy. That was her First Lady. Michelle Obama is mine.
I can see why she wanted to title this book Becoming. I can feel it too. There is an unfolding, an unravelling of self, as we age and are exposed to new information, places, ideas, people. It’s similar to removing the layers of an onion. It’s vulnerable. And sometimes, it can look quite ugly on the outside.
I am only figuring out myself as I am being thrust into the world as this new person. I am only just meeting her for the first time. I couldn’t imagine having to do that on a worldwide stage. My stage is very small in comparison, however, the inner confusion seems all too familiar. If I don’t fully understand who I am, how am I supposed to present her to the rest of you? This is something I have been pondering over for a few years now. My conclusions? Don’t expect a neat little bow.
My first stage was where I danced. I mean a literal stage with professional lighting and sound equipment and auditorium seating. There were dressing rooms backstage and below. From the age of three to 15 I spent my weeks meticulously practising the dance moves that my classically taught ballet and tap instructor would piece together. I donned sequined outfits, glammed up with bright red lipstick and blue eyeshadow, my hair in the perfectly made french tuck. This was the only time I was allowed makeup at my younger age. I was the sparkle in everyone’s eyes. I was front-row, center on this stage of mine.
My next stage was in middle school. I tried out for the cheerleading squad in sixth grade, but I didn’t make the cut. I remember bawling in the back seat of my mom’s minivan, devastated that I couldn’t live up to that image of who I was supposed to become. I was deemed a cheerleader out of the womb, the only female in my generation on both sides of my family. I tried out for the track and field team. No one got cut. I could run, slowly but for long periods of time. I would run the mile.
High school had yet another literal stage on which I attempted to perform. I was a drama kid. Well, I wanted to be. My fear kept me from actually participating during classes, so transitioning to the big stage was also a flop. I forgot my lines, and had to adlib the final scene. I got scared and blanked out. I panicked. The next day at school, my teacher told me I sucked at memorization. I was already thoroughly embarrassed and distraught. This was just the icing on the cake. I completely stopped trying after that. Top that with the fact that not one person came to see my performance.
You see that was also theme in my life growing up. Michelle Obama and I have a lot in common in that respect. My father too was diagnosed with Multiple Sclerosis. I watched from the sidelines as my father’s mobility declined. Slowly he stopped being able to come to my performances. He stopped being able to be a physical presence to all of my life’s events. I was no longer the little girl, bright-eyed dancing on the stage. My stage had now become a place where I felt alone in the world.
Major life events, my father had to stay home. I can’t even pretend to understand how he feels about all of this. I own a house that he has never been to. My brother walked me down the aisle at my wedding, while my dad watched from his wheelchair. It was truly beautiful, but I never got to have a father-daughter dance and I never will.
Kobe Bryant’s death hit me in a complicated way. The way his relationship with his daughter was expressed in the media was really hard for me to witness. The #girldad trend reopened wounds in me that I thought I had healed. I guess I thought that by this stage in my life I would have come to terms with my dad’s illness. I am 35 years old, and I still cry when I see other dads with their daughters. It hurts. Maybe it always will. Maybe it won’t. I simply don’t know.
Now I feel like I am in yet another stage of my life. One where I feel as though I am opening myself up to another aspect of myself that I didn’t even know existed. My creative side is flowing in a new way that I don’t completely understand. I am going with it.
Michelle Obama said in her book, “I’m an ordinary person who found herself on an extraordinary journey.” She found herself. That’s what I am doing. I am finding myself, finding my voice. I don’t know where this journey will take me, but I am here for the ride.
