Filters or Self-Limiting?

I spent much of yesterday preparing for two friends to come over for supper, aka, late afternoon light dinner. Most of the time went to prep, of course, as happens with cooking. Cleaning, stripping and chopping herbs, putting chicken in brine, chopping more (this time vegetables), making marinades, etc. They are wine afficiandas so came equipped with five different wines - Chardonnays, Sauvignon Blanc, Pinot Grigio. Our consumption thereof likely helped how much everyone enjoyed the meal.

A bit about our friends, whom we don't seem to get together with as often as we like. First, I've known J since shortly after I moved to the Bay Area. She was the treasurer of a non-profit, Bay Area Career Women, "professional" lesbians (as in not making a job of it, rather being in higher-paying jobs). The gay boys referred to us as Dykes on Spikes, for the high heels, or Lipstick Lesbians.

Side story about J and me. We went out together to party a lot, when I wasn't engaged in my serial monogamy sport of the time. She convinced me to be a non-singing member of the board of the Lesbian/Gay Chorus of San Francisco to help with the group's public relations. I had so much fun with them. J and I invariably went to the Thursday practice of the whole chorus. It was so wild to see the director call the 60 or more screaming queens and butch dykes together to make the most beautiful music ever. They did a show highlighting the music of the 50's. I, as an usher, had to look the era so I opted for the Lucille Ball look. J called me to ask if I was on my way and I told her, "I can't talk now, I'm wearing lipstick."

J found R, I found Maureen and off to nesting we all went. For us, to the point of being reclusive. J is now the senior vice president for a successful gay/lesbian-staffed accounting firm. R, an artistic type, has made herself into the must-use calligrapher for, among others, the Nob Hill gang, and the San Francisco Symphony and Opera. I have a piece I commissioned from R to accompany my print of the New Yorker Magazine 9/11 cover. She is gifted.

And what, pray tell, does this have to do with my job hunt? R mentioned that the symphony is looking for a receptionist. She told the story of how that vacancy came to be and J chimed in about how one had to deal with all kinds of people, including the wealthy donors. They agreed that I'd be perfect and get promoted out of the position in no time. I found myself having to stave off an anxiety attack and mustered up enough faux enthusiasm to say I'd look into it. Tapping into deeper reserves, I found a segue out of that line of conversation.

What's up with that?! Besides the no bridge principle? I've had dreams for a year or so that, after consulting with friends, especially our friend Google, indicated that I struggle with a sense of not fitting in. Long before I retired, R got comped in, with J and another couple, to a black tie fundraising event for a major environmental non-profit. She'd done its invitations and place cards. Maureen and I bought gowns, got ourselves all gussied up, enjoyed dinner with J and R at the first five-star vegetarian restaurant in San Francisco, and went into the event. Everyone was fit, beautiful, dressed in obviously beyond expensive outfits, and donning more gems than all of the Smithsonian's exhibits. I was miserable. I felt intimidated and inadequate in horrifyingly equal measure.

Will I pursue being the receptionist for the San Francisco Symphony? I think not. I know not. But I thank R for the job lead.