Sincerely, June.

Everyone needs a Fairy God Mother. I have one of those already (and boy, is she awesome!).

What I didn’t know I needed… was an “Alice”.

I met Alice on the first day of my new job.

She didn’t arrive with with a magic wand, a pumpkin carriage, woodland animals that sing and do my housework, or even any good shoes to share with me (What a bitch!) – no, Alice arrived in a black Toyota Camry.

I was fried to a crisp from emotional and mental anguish thanks to my last organization. It was a wonder I was even able to string intelligible words together on the interview that landed me this new position. I struggled to put myself together for my first day, but I tried. I think I even wore makeup – a rarity.

I walked in my new office building and sitting behind the conference room glass was my new coworker.

She was impeccably dressed with a fresh, shag haircut straight out of a 1970’s fashion magazine. She somehow made jeans and a striped shirt look professionally flawless – chic even. Her cropped fluffy muted-rainbow coat, which she was quick to deem “faux fur,” dangled off the back of her chair. I was sure that coat was meant to be worn by her. Her sunglasses sat on the long wooden table.

She oozed cool.

She pulled not one, not two, but three beverages out of her bag, a brand new notebook, and a fancy pen.

Her name: Alice. Her age: I guessed, 28.

I noted that when she talked she doodled lines and circles in her notebook almost as if she was translating her spoken words into written cues for someone who spoke “Alice” to later interpret.

Through our conversations that day, we determined the important things: like that we were both Geminis. She offered to figure out my “moon sign” (whatever that was) and read my tarot. I told her I liked her outfit and was presented with the rundown: shoes (Aldo) striped top (Loft) jeans (Madewell) and perfect fluffy rainbow coat (Anthropologie).

I caught my reflection in the conference room glass, a loser in A. Byer. I had already sweat through my blouse and to boot, I’d forgotten to cut the tag off of my new slacks, which was now digging into the lowest part of my back.

I shifted in my chair and drifted away, intimidated by this super cool Alice girl – “I don’t want to make friends here,” I thought. “I am here to get work done. To climb the corporate ladder, eat lunch, go home, and get paid. To … “

I suddenly realized I hadn’t spoken for quite some time when I tuned into Alice’s voice again, midway through a conversation with our new boss, “Yeah! I’m 40!”

So that was it!

She officially had it all.

She was bright, peppy, and had the complexion of a 25-year-old with the grit and wisdom that only comes at 40. I suddenly felt small and baby-like as an old, yacht-sized “why-am-I-always-the-youngest-person-at-my-job” age complex creeped in…

But I was determined not to let it win. This was a fresh start. This was a new job. And I could be whoever I wanted to be. Alice was really cool. Maybe we would be friends. Maybe I could be cool too.

She reached in her bag again and I secretly hoped it would be another beverage, (but this time, perhaps, something strong to share to get through the next orientation PowerPoint).

It wasn’t.

Over the next few months, the next few years, Alice and I became friends. She opened my mind to new ideas, new ways of thinking. We shared laughs, gripes, and crab rangoon. She introduced me to drag performances – something i never had the occasion to go to – told me the best way to cut my hair for my facial shape, and everything I ever needed to know about the art of dance.

She taught me to question “reality” and to trust my instincts. She believed in me when I couldn’t believe in myself. She told me to find hobbies – to do things for the joy of doing them.

She pushed me when I needed to be pushed and coached me through so many moments. She taught me to not compare art, as “its an insult to art”.

She helped me through dark times in my life and I like to think I helped her too.

Maybe she didn’t arrive in bippity-boppity-boo fashion and she certainly didn’t have a Chesire cat, but Alice and her rainbow faux fur coat pulled back the layers of time for me. She uncomplicated things I had tangled up and woven into my making and took me on a trip through the looking glass – into a world of technicolor.

I didn’t want to lower my guard and let another friend in. I had everyone I needed. The people who stuck by my side at every stop before this one.

I never thought I’d make a friend at a job again. I never wanted to.

But everyone needs an Alice.

And where would I be without her?

Sincerely,

June