Don’t quit your day job

Pam packed light when she went to New York for her summer program: one suitcase, a gleaming new engagement ring, and a lifetime’s worth of vague and grandiose dreams for the future.

She returned with the suitcase and the ring. The dreams she’d traded for a report card filled with mediocre grades and a crushing sense of failure.

She had loved the city. Living there alone had filled her with a delightful terror. Like an explorer, she charted her discoveries of the best coffee shop, art supply store, and deli in the neighborhood, reporting back to Jim every night in vivid detail. She glowed with secret pleasure when the dark-eyed guy next door gave her a look that said “maybe?” even though she was a definite, happily engaged “no.” Even getting lost was a thrilling adventure, leaving her flushed and breathless when she finally found her way back to the tiny apartment. She loved to watch the people rushing by, individuals making up a crowd. Until very recently, Pam had been accustomed to feeling invisible; somehow here, in this ocean of anonymous humanity, that seemed like an asset instead of a sad fact of life.

She missed Jim, of course, but she could handle it. She had lived through worse, after all; being two hours away but secure in their relationship was vastly preferable to sitting three feet away and not being able to talk to him. No, missing Jim was not the worst thing she was dealing with.

School was.

Even though these were entry-level courses, Pam was painfully aware by the end of the first class that the kids surrounding her (she couldn’t help but think of them as kids) were all very familiar with a range of software tools she had never even heard of. Worse, all of her classmates seemed to live and breathe design- from their clothes to the doodles on their sketchbooks, they all had an artistic flair that Pam lacked.

It wasn’t just a self-esteem issue, either. Try as she might, Pam couldn’t master the techniques being taught. Her exploration of the neighborhood dwindled and ceased altogether as she spent hours and hours on her projects. She was improving; she could tell that much. Still, her professors weren’t satisfied, and her grades reflected that.

Jim tried to be supportive. He had all the faith in the world in her, and that made it worse, of course, because she felt like she was failing him as well as herself. He gamely made the trip for her class exhibition, and was smart enough to limit himself to comments about how much she was learning and how much he liked one of her pieces. Extravagant praise would have been undeserved, Pam knew, especially next to the displays of her more talented classmates. Afterward, she cried herself to sleep in his arms, while he murmured that he loved her, that he was proud of her, that it was so amazing that she was doing this. She woke up with him beside her and realized that having him there made it much better.

Finally, the summer was over. Emotionally exhausted, her self-confidence in tatters, Pam returned to Scranton with no idea what she was going to do next. Jim moved her suitcase into his apartment, where all the rest of her things had been waiting while she was gone. She looked around the spartan, masculine space and surprised herself by immediately envisioning the colors and patterns and pieces of art that would transform it into a home for both of them. She hadn’t expected that creativity to re-emerge so soon after the beating it had taken. She smiled to herself and let Jim take her mind off of redecorating, at least for a while.

Monday morning came. With a sad attempt at a brave smile, Pam followed Jim into the Dunder Mifflin office. It was shockingly unchanged. She watched Jim settle in at his desk beaming, obviously overjoyed to have her back. Within minutes, people started noticing her return. Michael embraced her, near tears, and Kelly demanded an overview of all the stars she saw and what they were wearing, while everyone else contented themselves with smiles and short greetings. It was obvious that she’d been missed, which was both surprising and deeply touching.

Finally, Pam stood alone at the reception desk. With a deep breath, she sat down. She fished her sketchbook out of her shoulder bag; she wanted to start some designs for their living room, and she also had an idea or two for their wedding invitations.

The phone rang. Pam looked down at it for a moment, the light blinking. This wasn’t what she had been expecting, but it would do for now. “Dunder Mifflin, this is Pam,” she said. It felt like coming home.