Up in the Air: Who Am I Now?

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Yesterday, Max presented his senior project, his last task before graduating from high school.  He had to do it over Zoom, to an audience of two teachers, three friends, my husband, and me.  He had switched topics late, from chiropractic to cooking—and his “deliverable” was a slide show of dishes he’d made for us, plus a 14-minute video demonstration of how to make pannacotta.  Zoom was glitchy.  The whole thing felt haphazard, rushed, uninspiring.  At some point Max started flinging his hands up over his head and leaning back out of the frame.  Then he would grab his head to crack his neck.  I wanted to burst out laughing, but his teachers’ faces were serious.

Max is trying on identities.  He’s poured through season after season of Master Chefs from around the world, memorizing the names of the winner and their favorite cuisines, the mannerisms of Gordon Ramsey and Joe and Graham Elliott.  He’s soaked up the lingo; consistency, plating, palate, flavor profile.  Adores flicking the knife blade back and forth (incorrectly) across the rasp to sharpen it.

It’s all surface, an experiment.  Yet he insists he want to go culinary school, become a three-Michelin-Star chef and open a restaurant—seemingly profound passions he’s never mentioned before.  But he expects us to foot the bill for Johnson and Wales—tuition $33 000 per year.  We had to lay down the law: we could only pay for two years.  After that he’d be on his own.

 

I’ve been goading him to consider cheaper, and closer, options.  He’s been digging in his heels.  The tension came to a head a few days ago, just around the time Joe died.  I found myself sobbing on the bedroom floor, exhausted.  Finally, I gave up.   Some tough sour husk I’d been clinging to fell away. The wish to control and protect.  To continue as Max’s manager, counselor, motivator, protector, fierce advocate—the role that’s consumed my mental and emotional energy for 18 years. 

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In less than a year, I’ve lost my identity as a teacher. Watched my easy intimacy with Max grow strained.  Lost my familiar habits to Covid.  Lost a beloved family member to cancer.  Lost my most fundamental and fulfilling identity: mom.

 

After retiring, I felt unmoored: Who would I be now?  Now I feel pinned to the air, unable to reach the earth.