As I was getting dressed this morning, I looked at my particularly poor choice of clothes and thought of a phrase my mother used to say to me as a child when she’d disapprove of my appearance before I would leave the house:
“You look like an orphan!”
She’d then comb my hair or straighten my collar or make me wash my hands or whatever. I haven’t thought about that in years. (Only now do I notice the implicit narcissism. Fundamentally, she was saying “You don’t look like you have me” or “You look like I’m not doing my job.” But she meant well.)
In all the chaos of moving, I didn’t realize until today that the third anniversary of my mother’s death had passed by without me noticing. It was my start date at Blue Sky.