[private]I survived a month of columns.  I put myself out there and swam.  Ok, it was more like a doggie paddle, but I didn’t sink, and that is the important thing.  

Sheryl and Sandy thought I needed to celebrate my new life as a writer, so I’m sitting here at Meritage, a local tapas restaurant, waiting for them to make their grand entrances.  I’m always early when it’s time for food and drinks.

“What’s up Diva?!”  Sheryl shouts the moment she sees me.  Energy is her middle name.

I stand and give her a hug, while marveling at how she always manages to look great, yet casually pulled together.  Tonight she is wearing a pair of jeans, a printed silk top that ties at her neck, and some damn four-inch sandals that are to die for. 

“How’s it been Miss Writer Lady?” Sheryl asks with her usual flair.

“It’s been good.  I’m glad that I’m out of the house and among humans.”

“Yeah- you didn’t think this writing thing would be so lonely, huh?” she asks as she settles into the seat across from me.

“I don’t mind that so much.  Actually, I kind of like the solitude.  I didn’t realize I would be doing it for such long stretches.  But, as much as I’m enjoying it, I miss seeing you guys.”

The waiter comes over and hands Sheryl food and drink menus.  Our heads go down as we get to the business of deciding what to eat when Sandy strolls in, looking relaxed and beachy in a green sundress with matching ballet flats. 

If shoes are an expression of our personalities, then Sheryl’s scream edgy and self- assured, while Sandy’s indicate practicality, comfort, and cuteness.  Tonight, I’m chilling in a pair of Fit Flops, a white shirt, and khaki shorts.  My new standard attire.  I haven’t dressed up since I left SouthCoast Technology.  My look is saying: “No worries, mon.”  And that is exactly how I feel.

“Well, well, if it isn’t the Corporate America escapee and her Bohemian sidekick” Sandy quips as she leans over for hugs.

“Hello to you too, Miss High and Mighty.”  Sheryl is quick with the comeback.

“Ok, ya’ll.  Not tonight.  We are here to celebrate me.  And I don’t want any mess from the two of you. 

Sheryl smiles and pipes in, “Now, you know that’s how we roll.  I’ll walk through Hell in gasoline drawers for that heifer.”

“Thanks Sheryl- I think” Sandy says with a laugh.

Our conversations always start off the same.  Trading barbs, updates on the children and men in our lives, and of course work.  After the food arrived, it was time to cut right to the chase. 

“Ok Trisha, give it to us girl.  How has the last month as a guest columnist been for you?”  Sandy was never one for wasting time.

I know the answer already.  I have been thinking about it all day.

Inhaling deeply, I respond.  “It’s been wonderful.  Scary and hard and fun- all at the same time.  Some days I sit at the computer for hours and only manage to get a few lines written.  The next day, my fingers are flying across the keyboard, and I can’t type fast enough to keep up with the thoughts in my head. I love it.  I feel free.”

“So, does this mean you aren’t going to try to get your job back?” Sandy asks with concern.

“That’s exactly what it means.  Although I did get a call from Rick a couple of weeks ago letting me know that I could do just that if I wanted.  I have to say, I thought about it long and hard, but no.  It felt right, leaving when I did.”

“Ok, honey, but you don’t have a job.  Just how are those bills going to get paid?”

“She’s a big girl Sandy, I’m sure she has a plan.”  As always, Sheryl has my back.

“I am going to be ok.  I’ve got some savings I can use, and even stock in SouthCoast Tech if it gets really scary.  I’ll need to sell the house, but it doesn’t seem that traumatic to me.  I have always talked about buying a condo when Chris goes to college.  If she doesn’t want to live in a condo, she can always move in with her dad.  She’s not a baby anymore.”

“So, what exactly are you going to be writing? I’m just curious.”  Maybe Sheryl’s “go with the flow” attitude has its limits.

“I’m going to be writing a ‘regular’ column for the Charleston Times.  Once a week, seventy-five dollars a column.  I’ve also started outlining a novel, so I’ll be working on that as well.”

“I’m sorry.  Did you say ’seventy-five dollars’ for each column?”  Sandy looks as if she is going to jump out of her seat.  “Are you nuts?  You can’t live on that!”

“Sandy, really, I know that I can’t live on that.  But it’s a start.  Come on, I’m getting my foot in the door and getting publishing creds.  I’m making a COMPLETE career transition.  I can’t walk into the newspaper expecting to be paid top dollar as if I have been writing for the last 15 years. But most importantly, I’m happy.  And that should count for something.”

“Are you starting to believe the stuff you have been writing?” Sandy asks with a snarl.

“Actually, I’ve been writing what I believe.  Which is apparently what has drawn so many readers to my column.”  A look of annoyance is taking up residence on my face.

We have a few moments of silence.  A grown-up version of a stand off, I suppose.

“Look”, Sheryl eventually chimes in, “Trisha leaving her job has no bearing on your choice to climb the corporate ladder, Sandy.  Everyone has her own path to walk.  Yours involves long hours, office backstabbing, and a fat bank account.  Hers involves a computer, telling stories, and waiting by the mailbox for meager checks.  It’s all good.  To each her own.” 

We all laugh, and the tension is broken. 

“Trish, I don’t mean to come off as hard.  I’m just worried about you.  And, maybe even a little jealous.  You always were one to go your own way.  But you need to know that no matter what, I’m very proud of you.  I read your stuff, and emailed everyone I know each week to make sure they read it as well. I got you, girl.”

“Aww, Sandy.  You know that really means a lot to me.”

“Now, that’s what I’m talking about.  Some sisterly love,” Sheryl said, quite pleased with the scene.  “So what is your column called?”

My lips turn up in a nervous smile.  “Mid-life as a Southern Diva.”

“If that’s not appropriate, I don’t know what is,” Sandy says with a nod. 

“Drink up ladies.  I got the dear hubby to agree to be designated driver tonight and pick us up at midnight.  A toast to mid-life and divas,” Sandy says as she raises her glass.

“Here, here!” we all chime. 

And it really does feel like a new beginning for me. [/private]

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