A journey can start with a slip. A pink slip. A slip from the person we were supposed to be.
So who said “Keep it together?”
Perhaps we need to blow it apart. Into small bits. Pink confetti.
Or schrapnell.
There is nothing so lethal as the known terror.
The predictable misery. Is there freedom in that?
Sometimes, we will find only by losing.
I always had a thing for pink. The color is soft and fluffy like cotton candy. Girly-girl and romantic. We’re trained to love it from our first little pink shoes to pink nightly. Pink tastes like the fairy icing on my birthday cakes, feels like warm baths with Mr. Bubbles, and smells like a fresh tube of baby doll lipstick. I fondly remember many of the pink things that have made my life beautiful,
The color has always made me feel happy. And bold. A “Jane” that was authentic and light. So it made sense that God started to talk to me in the “language of pink.” First, I was handed my pink slip. Then, I saw slips of pink paper everywhere.
For example, one blue day, I found a tiny plastic pink heart in the cracked pavement of a New York City street. Another morning, it was pouring rain. I was late for work and missed the elevator. Standing outside the building getting drenched, I was annoyed having to wait.By the time the next elevator came, it was packed. The dripping crowd pushed their way into the small space with soggy umbrellas, coats, bags, and all.
Staring at the ground. I noticed a pair of smooth pink toe shoes pointed in “first position.” I looked up to see a young ballerina, around five years old. She was dressed from head to toe in a burst of pink— tutu, ballet shoes, tiara, and umbrella. Her mother cooed in the background, “Gemma dear, hold my hand.” I blinked. Gemma is the name of the protagonist in “My Slip Was Pink.” How could that be a coincidence?
I believe that a spiritual force communicated with me in an encouraging way. It seemed to urge me to continue this book, even when I was disheartened, as well as through many hardships. The worst of all was the loss of my mother. Even so, there was “pink” in the challenges and changes. I learned we can find beauty and grace in the language of pink.
Looking back on my life, I understand, my Slip Was ‘Pink.’
Do you ever wonder what it’s all about? Well, as the unemployment rate in NYC reaches 17%, I certainly do. I’m a Harvard Business School graduate without a job. And I’ve graduated Harvard not once, but twice! With fifteen years of work experience. You can relate. Now that I think of it, I’ve spent most of my life “searching”. For the right job. And for the right guy. But somehow my picket fence remains my 500 square foot studio on East 72nd Street Have you noticed that interviews and dating are pretty similar experiences? So, let me tell you about myself. I’m Jane, and I’m currently lying in my bed on the upper east side of Manhattan with my teddy bear, Solace. And multiple Hershey bar wrappers. Where does one go from here?
Most recently, I worked for an internet marketing start-up in NYC. Starting last January, business took a nose-dive as a result of the recession. During the summer, we couldn’t generate any new business. Nervous marketing managers slashed budgets. “Spend” became the new “four letter” word. Two weeks before my birthday last October, I’m handed my “pink slip”. Happy Birthday Jane!
I gathered my shoes, photos, and mouse pad before my computer unceremoniously goes black. Looking back, I saw it coming. But I wasn’t prepared. Now an outsider, I embark on a new journey. To figure “It” out. Life is a puzzle.
I must ask you, “Is your pink slip showing?”
Jane Ranzman Writer 