Franz.

There’s a moment where I’m staring at the Zoom icon and then suddenly, his face fills the screen. I take him in in bits and pieces. Round tortoiseshell plastic framed glasses, broad forehead, full lips formed into a semi-frown and sweat dotting his hair line. I instantly wonder if he’s just come from some activity or if this conversation is anxiety provoking.

He leans forward, towards the screen and the right corner of his mouth twitches into something that resembles a half-smile.

Hi, he says.

Hi there, I respond.

I’ve had so many of these conversations over the last few years. So many young people seeking advice, comfort, guidance. I want to help them all. It’s not a savior complex that propels me, not at all, but I do, want to help. Thoughts cross my mind regularly- regarding what life might have been like had someone taken the time for me. Perhaps I didn’t try hard enough, to reach out, to connect. I didn’t know, though. How could I when no one taught me?

There’s a lot I could say in this moment, I say, a familiar gentle firmness in my voice, but you’ve asked for this meeting, so perhaps you have something specific in mind.

He’s handsome, this young man, but his face is filled with worry and that makes me wish I could reach through the screen, hold his hands, and ask him to breathe with me. He’d think me a loon, I imagine, and still, the desire inches my hands away from my lap and onto my desk, closer to the screen. I interlace them as if to chastise my own flesh. No, I think, they belong in your space, not his. No.

I have some questions prepared, he says, if that’s okay?

Of course, I respond, but I’m thinking maybe we could take a breath first?

I’m sorry? he asks.

A breath, I reply. I’m hoping we can take a nice deep breath together. Just take a beat.

I know you are so busy, he starts to say.

It’s fine, I say, I am busy, but I always have time. Plus, I can always say no, right? And I didn’t. Say no. I said yes. I want to talk to you. And there’s no looming deadline, so let’s just take a breath and then, have a chat.

He smiles then. A real smile, and his teeth are square and very straight and sparkly white against his burnished skin. I smile back, as if to encourage him. It’s genuine, but also, a message, I hope.

I take in breath audibly and I see him do the same. When we are finished exhaling, a smile fills his lovely face again, and he clears his throat.

Can you tell me what you are fretting over? I ask.

Well, he starts, I graduate soon. Like in a few months. I’m an English literature major, but I really want to work in real estate finance, and I need to get a job, but also, I’m worried that I won’t be able to. I don’t think I know what I want to do outside of the industry and I feel kind of lost.

He says this in one breath, and I marvel at the way his words run together and the way my brain sorts them out. I imagine letters dropping into spaces in a crossword puzzle.

Plunk.

Plunk.

Solved.

I get it, I say. Did you hear me share that I was a painting and psychology major in college?

No, he says, laughing, I had no idea.

I’m relieved that he’s laughing, even momentarily. The pressure placed on these young people, by those who surround them, by themselves, is so immense that it frightens me.

Yes, I say, and when I was your age, I think I still wanted to be a professional ice skater. Ask me if I was ever good at ice skating.

Were you? he asks.

No, I reply. I was literally never good at ice skating. Anyway, I’m being a bit silly, but the reality is that I had no idea what I wanted to do and who I wanted to be. Many of my peers did. My sister, too. She was ten years old when she decided she wanted to be an occupational therapist. Me? I sort of just fell into things. And you know what I learned?

What? he replies. Before I can answer him, he half whispers, I’m taking notes, and I hope that’s okay, I just want to remember everything.

I laugh quietly. Yes, I tell him, that’s just fine.

Anyway, I say, I learned that my first step was not my last step. You will also learn this, and it will set you free. Your first step, Franz, is not your last step. Do you know what I mean by that?

He pauses for a moment, looking down and then back up again-as if the answer might be in the notes he’s already taken. No, he says, I’m sorry, but I don’t think so.

You have nothing to be sorry for, I say, so that’s a good place to start. Anyway, what I mean is that you don’t have to put so much pressure on this first step you are about to take, because you will have so many steps to take after this first one. Whether you stay with this first job, or it’s a steppingstone to something else, you will grow beyond this first step in a way that makes it more and much less important.

I pause for a moment, and then, looking at his wide eyes and unlined face, continue.

You have so much time, I say. And I say that without any caveats or qualifiers. I know anything can happen at any time, and still, I know you are young. And I wish you could ease into that mindset-the notion that you have time. That your first step is not your last step.

I like that, he says.

Me too, I reply. Mostly because it’s true. It really is- and you do have time and things can always change and every situation brings with it opportunity. I’ll answer any other questions you have, but I want you to keep telling yourself those things. I just want you to keep telling yourself that the only thing you need to focus on, not worry about, but focus on, is just your first step. That’s all. And after that one, you can think about the one after that, okay?

Okay, he says.

Okay, I reply. Let’s continue.

x

L.