How to Not Let Personal Identity Get Lost in Expectation: A Working Woman’s Truth
It was a rainy Sydney evening, the kind that makes staying in feel justified and stepping out feel like effort. I almost didn’t go.
But something in me insisted.
The roads were freshly wet, reflecting streaks of green and red from the ferry light bunting draped across the facade of the Sydney Town Hall. I walked up the slick steps, slightly hesitant, as volunteers in green t-shirts guided us into the vestibule of that Second Empire-style space.
Inside, it was anything but quiet.
A loud, warm hum filled the room. People gathered in clusters, holding drinks and small bowls of olives, their conversations buzzing with anticipation. Tweed caps, expensive shawls, polished boots; young and old, aspiring and accomplished – all gathered with a shared purpose I couldn’t quite name yet.
And I was alone.
