Channeling Sally Field

On my bedroom nightstand, there's a list.  A long list.  Separated by the days of the week, it includes tops, scarves, pants, shoes, even the right bras to go with each outfit.  It's my packing list.  In 8 days, I leave for my first MFA residency at Lesley University, and the packing list is keeping me from losing my mind.

I can control the list.  I can plan for what goes into my suitcase, what outfits I might want to wear when I'm in Cambridge, Massachusetts, and what kind of an impression I might want to make, but the variables are endless.  Since this is my first residency, I'm scouring pictures of previous residencies on the web.  What do people wear?  Do I need a "writer's scarf" with every outfit?  Dress up or dress down?  Jeans or dress pants?  Skirts or sweats?  All black or all color?  How many boots can I fit into my suitcase?  Will it rain?  Snow?  Will it be cold?  Windy?  Sunny?  Icy?  So many questions...

I remember planning an outfit for the first day of school in Brandon, Florida.  We'd moved there when I was 13 from a small town in western Massachusetts, and I wanted to make a good impression.  It was seventh grade, after all, and the pressure was on.  I knew nothing about the kids, the school, or the fashions that I might encounter on my first day, and I was nervous.  It was mid-April, and I'd be starting school nearly at the end of the year.  Relationships between kids were more firm than concrete, and I knew I'd be the outsider.  I'd met no one.  I was the new girl, and I was terrified.

I finally settled on a dress that my sister had bought for me.  It was tan and had flowers embroidered on the top, and it felt grown up.  In my bedroom, standing in front of the dresser mirror, it made me feel confident, like I could fit in anywhere.  In that first classroom on a hot and humid day in April, it just made me feel like I stood out like a sore thumb.  Virtually every kid in the room was wearing jeans and concert t-shirts.  Most of them proudly wore their white Nike's with the red swoosh on the side.  They looked at me and snickered.  Who did I think I was?  What had I been thinking?  It was my first lesson in  the importance of flying under the radar, and I've not forgotten it.

I'm the new kid again.  My audience, this time, will be more mature - mainly 30-, 40-, and 50- something writers uniquely focused on craft, rather than sweaty teenagers in a junior high classroom.  But the old feelings emerge:  I want to fit in.  I want to be a seamless part of my new community.  I want to build relationships and gain respect.  Like Sally Field, I want them to like me - to really, really like me.