Fancy Pants Restaurants and Imposter Syndrome

Note: I wasn't able to post this until today (Friday).

On Tuesday, I went out to my Fancy Pants Restaurant. When travelling, I ususally try to have one meal at a restaurant that is Zagat rated. This doesn't necessarily mean it's a terribly fancy restaurant. For example, when I came to London in May, I ate at Jenny Lo's Teahouse, a tiny place with a tiny menu but fantastic and affordable food. This time, I upped the ante by making reservations at Petrus, one of Gordon Ramsay's restaurants, the chef of which helped Ramsay's signature restaurant in London earn its third Michelin star. The thing is, I looked at the menu, and it looked divine. I checked out the reviews, and they were stellar. I decided this was the place for my Fancy Pants meal.



Now, I've been to some nice restaurants in my time. Not dozens, but a few here and there. Places along the lines of Obelisk (in D.C.) and La Mer (at the Ritz in Doha), and I've had the champagne tea in Pret-a-Portea at The Berkeley here in London. At any of those places, I've felt comfortable enough to enjoy myself and the food I ate. They were all special occasion places, and I always felt like there were a good number of other people in the restaurant who were there as a "treat" of sorts.



My friends, yesterday at Petrus I felt like I might as well have been wearing a neon sign that blinked IMPOSTER. I dressed "smart," as the dress code instructed, in a nice shirt, knee-length skirt, black tights, and black dress boots. It wasn't like anyone stared at me or laughed and pointed, while yelling, "Look at the poor girl who can only pretend she has the money to eat here on a regular basis!" The service was impeccable, a highly orchestrated rhythm of suited men and women quietly, almost motionlessly, pouring, serving, taking away, etc. I never once had to ask for anything--even the bathroom. I simply stood up after my meal, and the lady walked me to the toilet as if she'd been reading my mind.



Located (price-wise) between the lunch menu du jour and the chef's menu, I had the 3-course a'la carte, preceded by an aperitif and accompanied by the best white wine I've ever tasted. Was the food good? Of course...it was pretty amazing. The meal was accompanied by several amous-bouches, which were almost tastier than the main fare I'd ordered: fois gras, pork belly, hazelnut parfait (each with a bunch of fancy stuff inside, outside, or next to it). How can one go wrong with all this?



Well, I was surrounded by these people who were chatting about the economy in Greece and Ireland, or the price of real estate in central London, or something else of this sort. I sat there, feeling not only guilty at the fact that I was spending so much money on my meal, but also on the fact that I was there to begin with. Anyone who's been to grad school likely knows this feeling. It's called Imposter Syndrome...it's the feeling that one is an imposter and that, at any moment, one will be called forth and mocked for pretending to be something one is not (smart enough to have a PhD, rich enough to afford a meal at Gordon Ramsay's restaurant, etc.). The problem is that I don't know if I'll ever shake this feeling because I know where I've come from: a tiny town in the middle of small state that nobody pays any attention to, a family that never had much money, and schools that aren't ranked in any prestigious college listings. I still love a chili-cheese coney with onions from Sonic as much as I love a Fancy Pants meal, and the people who eat at Fancy Pants restaurants wouldn't even know what Sonic is.



What's the point of all this, you ask? Well, I guess it is to say that I learned a lesson yesterday. I learned that if I'm so uncomfortable in my own skin to eat with pleasure, then I'm somewhere I don't belong...maybe somewhere I don't want to be.

Academic angst, Hormones, and More Stuff to Worry About

Yeah, so I'm a bit terrified. Today's the first day of classes, and I'm team-teaching a senior seminar course on Aphra Behn with my advisor. She could teach this in her sleep. She could teach this blindfolded with her hands tied behind her back. I, however, have no fucking clue what I should be doing. I know what I usually do when I teach, but this may not be what she considers "good teaching", so what if she hates it? What if she thinks I'm an incompetent boob who shouldn't be allowed near English majors? What if my normally great rapport with students falls short because they see that she is clearly the Queen Bee, and I am the lowly graduate student who wants to be a professor when she grows up. Yes, I'm all in knots about trying to figure out how much I should prepare for the days when my advisor is leading class, and how much/if I should alter my normal teaching style to address seniors.

I usually start class off by offering some guiding questions or issues to discuss and then I sit back and let the students take it from there. After this, I just "direct traffic" and let them determine what direction the class discussion should take. My worry is that my advisor will see this approach as lazy or unchallenging. Agghh...I kinda want to vomit right now.

Adding to this, I can't even take pleasure in watching any of the inauguration coverage because I'm so hormonal I start tearing up as soon as see the images of history being made. I don't mean just a little bit of watery eyes, either, I mean full-blown cry.

And it gets even better (well, actually worse)....it turns out that the last surgical procedure I had on my neck last May?? Well, its effects have worn off. I found this out after waking up last Tuesday morning with near immobilizing pain. The neurologist admitted that the information I'd been given last year, about the surgery lasting anywhere from 6 months to 2 years, was inaccurate. Instead, he said that 6 months to 1 year was more like it...big fuc&*ng difference Doc!! The best he could offer was trigger-point injections of anasthesia, which would numb the area and buy some time for the steroids to work. Just a little FYI: trigger-point injection fucking HURT!! Seriously, I was screaming and crying and wishing I'd just gone back home! It felt like someone was stabbing me repeatedly with a knife in my neck. I'll NEVER go through those again!

On top of the neck issue returning and the general lower back/sciatica pain that comes with pregnancy, it also looks like I may need a root canal! I woke up with a bad toothache on Sunday, went to the dentist yesterday, and the x-ray showed what looked to be an abcessing tooth. So, off to the endontist I go. Let's see, how many doctors do I have now: general physician; obstetrician; dentist; orthodontist; peridontist; endontist; neurologist. Seven doctors. At 32 years old, I should not have seven doctors unless I have some sort of terminal illness. I just feel like my body is failing me, and it sucks. I'm going to start a pre-natal yoga class on Saturday, which I'm hoping will help with both the neck and back pain and generally help me to feel a little more mentally and physically balanced. I've never done yoga, so I'm not sure what to expect. We'll see how it goes...things have to get better though, right?