I’m working on a toast for your graduation, I texted my youngest daughter Julia who is graduating from Duke University in about two weeks.

I hate toasts, she replied. Write me a letter.

This was about the best text I’d received in a while. Not only do I hate giving toasts, turns out she hates listening to them.

So here’s my letter, read away, Sweetie Pie:

You were always an interesting child. You hated the sunshine- it hurt your eyes. You didn’t like smiling- waste of energy.

You didn’t talk much either, but when you did utter a few words, those few words were always on point. It wasn’t easy to find out what you did like—tennis was a fail.

Your tennis teacher wondered if you might be left handed—you weren’t. Then he politely suggested I get your eyes checked. I did. Your vision was fine. Kate, who came along to the optometrist appointment because why not, turned out to need glasses.

You liked to sew. So, we sent you to sewing camp. Might you be the next Stella McCartney? You came back with several swatches of fabric, all that had random stitches on them. Worse, you insisted we keep every piece of artistry.

You did like making boxes from, well boxes.

Which explains your current Ikea sofa and bed building skills. Add to that your lifelong passion for pink – if Ikea ever does a furniture line dedicated solely to seven-year-old girls, you could be their dual spokeswoman/installer.

We tried  candle making (a lot of wax, not many wicks), gardening, archery, netball, washing the car. Nothing really stuck except for those boxes. I was getting a little anxious.

What does this child like to do?

Your older siblings also tried to help. They taught you how to pole dance and then suggested you test out your new skills on a pole in a packed outdoor restaurant in St. Barth’s on Christmas Day. You were about six.

I once asked a psychic about you when you were a child, obsessed with TV and little else.

She’s a late bloomer,” she told me.

That was heartening. I relaxed a little and let you go back to your favorite TV show.

By age eight you could quote most of Austin Powers, putting on a flirty cockney accent as you exclaimed, “Do I make you horny?! Randy? Do I make you horny baby, yeah do I ?!

https://youtu.be/7SM7ejMg2nk

Perhaps I did not pay enough attention to you in your formative years…But maybe leaving you to your own devices allowed you to discover who you are, and by that I mean, Elle Woods.

You are basically Elle Woods with your fuzzy pink steering wheel and your plans to get a criminal justice degree. You watched that movie once, and then a thousand more times. Elle and Bruiser, Julia and Antoinette, twins separated at birth.

Kate always wanted to be an interior designer. Thomas was less directed, but finally found that coding suits him to a tee. You, my sweet Julia, always loved an argument. On long car rides, if you wanted something at the start, by the end you’d have a yes or God help us all.  The family consensus:

Don’t get into an argument with Julia. Life’s too short.

Fast forward to now. I think it’s good that you are taking a minute (aka a whopping five months) to breathe before you pick up those law books. I want you to be the next Elle Woods, or even the next Amal Clooney. It’s also okay to be the next Julia. That means taking time to revel in the steps you have already taken, not just focusing on the steps to come.

Your generation has had to contend with a lot, things that are right on your doorstep. A pandemic and all its repercussions, school shootings, climate change, fake tan man, and explaining to your parents that the word woke has nothing to do with a good night’s sleep. You’ve had to reinvent what it means to be social because, let’s face it, that’s really what college is about. Making friends, partying, procrastinating with friends, hanging out – all a tad tricky during a pandemic.

When I graduated from college the big news was that Reagan won in a landslide, the US and the Vatican exchanged diplomats after a 116-year hiatus and Michael Jackson’s Thriller became record of the year. Different times indeed.

I am hopeful that you will find your way to a life of service, kindness, and success. But for now, do what you love – Watch some TV, sunbathe, read novels, go for walks in nature, bake, work on your Italian, hang out with your friends at charming pubs, visit your mother.

Your older brother Thomas said—the worst two years of his life were the ones directly after university. I’d say for me, divorce was worse, but those two years when I was a Morgan banker right out of college, are a close second. The point is it’ll be ok—you will find your path, it just might not be right out of the gate.

In one of the best faux commencement speeches ever, Wear Sunscreen, Chicago Tribune journalist Mary Schmich advised:

Don’t feel guilty if you don’t know what you want to do with your life. The most interesting people I know didn’t know at 22 what they wanted to do with their lives. Some of the most interesting 40-year-olds I know still don’t.

Or listen to Baz Luhrmann’s musical version To Wear Sunscreen here.

I went from banking to writing-about-banking to writing-about-advertising to writing about travel and interiors to my favorite subject of all—writing about me. Something that I didn’t discover until I took a memoir class, with years of motherhood and journalism behind me. Finally, I found something I really loved doing. So be mindful that what you do now may just be a path to the thing you are meant to do.

And as a final word of advice, I turn to my idol, the late Nora Ephron:

Oh, how I regret not having worn a bikini for the entire year I was twenty-six. If anyone young is reading this, go, right this minute, put on a bikini, and don’t take it off until you’re thirty-four.

April, 2021

The post Julia, Class of 2021 – My Commencement Letter appeared first on Elena Bowes.

I work all the time. I never have a chance to exercise or do anything, Becky laughs. I love it. I’m totally passionate about it.

Becky says she has noticed  that she’s not alone. As we women hit our fifties, with  no kids at home and ageing parents reminding us about our own looming mortality, many women seem to be launching  2^nd chapter careers where personal fulfilment ranks high on the list of requirements. One of Becky’s friends is training to be a Zen scholar, another an art historian and another a jeweller.

This got me thinking- I’ve been a journalist for thirty years. Maybe it’s time for a change, a 2nd chapter?

Who says you have to spend your life doing the same thing? As luck would have it, I was about to spend three days sampling a new possible career path, that of a photographer’s assistant – working alongside creative director Anne and photographer Jane. Photographer’s assistant today, Hiroshi Sugimoto tomorrow.

Anne, Jane and I have been hired to produce a feature about London for an international mag. I can’t say anything more on that because it’s highly confidential. In fact, forget I said London. I meant Luton.

Day One, 10am the team is off to venue number one. We are already an hour late because my two bosses need a full breakfast and many cappuccino refills to get going. Note to self: timekeeping seems more a wish than reality with this duo.

Elena, we’ve divvied up the various tasks, says Anne, and we think you’ll be really good at handling the releases.

What are releases? I ask.

Every-time we have someone in our photo, you have to ask them to sign a release form. It’s really important. We don’t want to get sued later.

Ok sure, I can handle that.

And you get to ask people to be in our photos.

You mean strangers?

Yup, it’s easy, Anne assures me.

Anne hands me a plastic folder filled with releases and pens.

Put this somewhere safe.

When we get to shoot number 1 Jane peers into her camera lens.

I need people. This looks lonely.

Elena, go ask that person to be in our picture, says Anne. The one with the cool sneakers, not so much the nerdy guy she’s with.

Me?

Yes.

Excuse me, I ask the two total strangers, would you mind being in our photo. It’s for a really important American magazine.  Your breakfast looks lovely, but if you wouldn’t mind just stepping over here. It’s for a really important magazine.

They are so nice. They oblige. Only the guy thinks we want him in the photo.

Uhh excuse me, shouts Jane staring into her lens, may you two please switch places (ie so we can’t see guy in photo)

Elena – did you get the release? Anne asks.

What, oh right. I rush over and pull out my important folder with forms and a handy pen. I let the guy sign too even though I know he’ll barely be visible in the finished photo. Don’t want to hurt his feelings.

As the day progresses my job responsibilities broaden. I get to help Anne with the set.

I get to pull the photographer’s suitcase carrying all her valuable equipment,

plus airplane pillow.

And her bag… I’m glad I do Pilates for upper body strength. This assistant job is a real workout.

I also help in the prepping for the shoot.

Elena please move that salt shaker counter clockwise to 6 o’clock. Back to 4’oclock. More of an angle.  Anne please will you assist Elena.

Jane always says please but she doesn’t really sound like she means it, more like she memorized the word and knows she needs to insert it frequently. Example:

Elena may you please crawl underneath that counter and hold it down while I shoot. Hold it still. Fingers. Elena, hide them. Please

Elena out of the frame. Now. Please

Nothing is beyond these two women to get the perfect shot. Anne has taken over my job of asking total strangers to be in our picture, or worse, move out of it. She is fearless. Anne asks a customer to please move to another table.

Oh, and can you take your sleeping baby with you.

She picks up unsightly garbage.

She considers removing this ugly sign. But we don’t have any scissors.

I should mention that we are working on two stories simultaneously. The one for the mag and the one for our Instagram Story, which is quickly assuming top priority.

Excuse me, would you mind moving?, Anne asks a man sitting in a parked van. We are doing a photo shoot for an important American magazine.

In fact, the photo is  for our sexy Charlie’s Angels Instagram Story. See below.

My daughter tells me our Instagram Story feels like a miniseries on Netflix. Not sure that’s a compliment.

By Day 3 I am starting to think that I am a key member of the team. Anne and Jane seem to really rely on me.

 Elena, my coffee! Jane bellows from across the street.

Coffee (not so much food) plays a big role in our day.

Do you know a good place to get a blow dry? they ask me trustingly.

They let me drive them around in my car. They speak in photo shoot lingo, which I am beginning to grasp.

T minus 4 until blow dry, says Jane.

I like this black leather with midriff at two o’clock, Jane says, spotting a potential model for our shoot.

But the man with the midriff turns the corner before Anne can chase him down.

I like being part of a team. It beats the lonely writer’s life. We laugh a lot. Could this be my new path? I wonder.

Jane, you can shoot that breakfast scene if you can shoot it quickly, says Anne.

Jane never shoots anything quickly, I joke.

Both women look at me, not smiling. I’ve overstepped.

Typically, on a photo shoot, Elena, Jane explains to me, speaking slowly, inches from my face, shooting quickly is 8-10 shots in a day. I’ve done easily 10 times that.

I look down, bowing my head in apology. This not laughing part of team work is a little less fun. To be honest, I am kind of missing my writing. I get to sit down, eat meals at meal time and my pugs think I’m perfect.

March, 2019

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