The Woman Across the Table

She looks like Ursula when she turned into the beautiful witch in "The Little Mermaid", which I assure you is a high compliment. It's a description I’ve used only for Amal Clooney.

Come to think of it she and Amal have a lot in common.

This is the kind of woman that you dress up for. A woman that you carefully craft an outfit that includes a new blouse and favorite shoes, because you know she will look impeccable. I kicked myself for not having time to pack the new purse I bought for just such an occasion. Although hers is a Louis Vuitton and mine is Target, so I'm clearly not going for impressive, maybe just not overflowing with handiwipes and Costco receipts.

Her upbringing, while only alluded to because she's too classy to brag, I assume was one of privilege and society. Her manners are the kind of perfect that is only taught at cotillion and perfected through sorority life. She chooses her words brilliantly, while I stumble on my own. She is mesmerizing and I want to be her. She had her Ph.D. before she was 35, and I can only guess that her personal life is as perfect as her curriculum vitae.

She asks how long it's been and I respond - three or four years, I guess. Yes, that's probably about right - exactly before she had her twins who are now preschoolers.

Her lunch conversation is even perfect. She asks about my community and my work, even though we're there to talk about hers. I want to soak up everything I can to learn from her, but she wants to know about me. The conversation is easy, and easier still as she is the one to ask about family.

Our professional discussion quickly and seamlessly drifts to "mom life", and we swap stories about our kids. She's noticed I'm remarried and wants to know about my husband, his children, and the story of how we met. I sit there thinking, "Really? But you're so important. Don't you want to tell me about your fabulous life?"

When I finally stumble through my own polite tale and ask about her babies, she tells me. And then she reveals exactly when the last time we saw one another was, and I’m stunned.

She was seven months pregnant, huge - her words, not mine - wearing Ugg boots and all black, and unknowingly days away from giving birth. As she uncomfortably labored up the steps of the golf club, I offered to give the presentation so she didn't have to, even though as a board member I would be "winging it". And the usually perfectly quaffed woman in my midst obliged out of pure discomfort. And sitting together, she claimed it was one of the nicest things anyone had ever done for her.

Woah.

I didn't know what to say. I was stunned. I remember that moment too, but it hadn't ever come back to my consciousness. I was just lending a hand - saying "Girl, I've got this, you should sit" to a very pregnant mama to be. And I don't mind public speaking or "winging it" so it really was no big deal. But to her it was.

There's that saying that “it's not what you say but how you make people feel that matters”. And I love that. And I love when people do that for me. But I never thought it would be ever something anyone would say about me. I care what I say. Too much. I also care how people feel, but often my brain is so flooded with what I'm saying - stumbling on - that I forget how little it matters.

She gave me such a gift by disclosing this moment between us. She reminded me what's important. It doesn't matter if I don't have the right words - because I usually don't. And it doesn't matter if my bag doesn't match my shoes - it never has. What matters is how I treat the people around me. The moments when I forget about all that outside stuff and instead embrace who I am and say, “Girl, I've got this”.

And at that moment, she reminded me that sometimes the woman we want to be is actually somewhere inside of us.