It’s the summer of my first year in graduate school and I’m standing in a small office on Northwestern’s campus. I’m there for a job interview, for some short-term research assistant position, and my sweaty body’s at ease in a stretchy cotton skirt and loose blouse. My hair is hanging freely at my shoulders, unmolested by a brush, and my face, as always, is bare.
A printed-out copy of my resume sits in a manila folder in front of me — both office supplies having been stolen from my main job. There’s a lilt in my step as I roam idly around the room. I’m pleased by the gentle weather and the peace that a semester off from my studies will bring. I even begin humming to myself.