This is part three in a three-part series. If you haven’t read Part 1 and Part 2 yet, you should definitely start there. For those of you who are caught up . . . on to part 3!
I felt dramatically better after throwing up. I wiped my mouth, stood up gingerly and scanned my pajamas for any signs of lingering vomit. All good. It was just shy of 9 AM, so that meant I still had two and a half hours to kill before heading out for the ceremony. Ugh. Why did time always seem to do the opposite of what I wanted? On days when I’m crunched for it, time evaporates in the blink of an eye. And when I’m awaiting an important decision, minutes turn into hours. Go figure!
I flipped on the radio, hoping to distract my mind with some catchy tunes. I knew that singing had a relaxing effect on me, and hoped the music would bring me some relief. Might as well get dressed, I thought, making my way to the closet. I took my sweet time getting ready, devoting extra time to my hair, makeup, and outfit selection. I had never been to an event like this before, and Nick hadn’t given me much direction, so I played it safe with a business casual look, which wouldn’t make me stick out as either the dressiest or the most casual person in the room.
I needed an outfit that inspired confidence, so I went with an old classic from my Target days—a black and white striped button-down shirt with three-quarter sleeves and a form-fitting knee-length pencil skirt with subtle pinstripes and a six-inch slit up the back. I finished the look with a low heel and some sheer black nylons—triple-checked for holes, of course—and stepped in front of the mirror to assess my work. The woman staring back at me looked polished, friendly and confident. Was that me? What a contrast that was to how my insides felt! I attempted to mentally merge the two selves, to remember that the insecure, anxiety-ridden woman I felt like today had also been polished, friendly and confident at many points in her life. All of these things were me. And all of it was normal and okay. Taking big risks—like what I was doing today—was scary and unnerving. It made sense that I was feeling insecure and nervous. But glimpsing the other me also reminded me of the strength I had—the resilience, courage and boldness I’d developed, especially over the last five years. I had learned to embrace the unknown and do hard things. And I could do it again today.
Feeling re-energized, I stepped away from the mirror and rewarded myself with 90 minutes of random scrolling on Facebook. I could always count on Facebook to fill a little downtime! Eventually it was 11:30 AM and I locked up the apartment, exiting the apartment building to find the spouse who was giving me a ride.
I got my first glance at the infamous Foreign Service Institute (FSI) as we passed through the first ID checkpoint at the main gate. The stately building to my left was done in the Colonial Revival style, with six three-story ionic columns holding up a magnificent portico. A sweeping driveway led up to the entrance, with manicured lawns magnifying the building’s classical beauty. It really was quite lovely; I was starting to see why everyone liked spending time here.
We continued along the road that skirted the complex, a tall fence looming on our right. We rounded the corner and a parking lot came into view. We found a spot without much effort, collected our things, and followed the signs to the entrance, which was essentially just another security point disguised as a welcome center. They sure don’t mess around with security here, I thought to myself.
I located the end of the check-in line and awaited direction. A few minutes later it was my turn to place my belongings on the conveyer belt for security screening, just like the airport. Once my items came out the other end and I was cleared with a “good”, another uniformed officer beckoned me to the counter for an I.D. check.
“Name?”
“Sarah Miller—I mean Novak.”
“You here for Flag Day?” he inquired. I nodded in reply and handed over my driver’s license, eager to make my way inside. He returned my I.D. shortly thereafter, adding, “Okay, you’re all set. Head on up to the gymnasium.”
I followed the crowd to a big, unassuming building that I hoped was the gymnasium. I reached the doorway and the loud, excited chatter coming from inside confirmed that I was definitely in the right place. I could feel the anticipation radiating off the crowd that was gathered. Good. Perhaps I’m not the only one whose feelings are all over the place today! I spotted my father-in-law, Robert “Don’t Call Me Bob” Novak, standing towards the back of the room. This was a big day for their family—son taking up the mantle just as Dad wrapped up his hugely successful 30+ year career as a Diplomat. It wasn’t hard to see the pride radiating from his face.
I walked over to him, gave him an awkward hug and motioned toward three open seats three-quarters of the way back. Nick joined us a few minutes later, greeting me with a quick peck on the cheek. He sat down and squeezed my hand, sending me a silent message that everything was going to be okay. Please, oh please let him be right.
The ceremony began at 12:00 sharp with a welcome from the Director of FSI. I was having a hard time paying attention to anything by that point and couldn’t have repeated back a single thing she said. Hurry up, hurry up. Let’s get to the important part.
Next up was the Deputy Secretary of State who administered the Oath of Office to these newly minted Diplomats. Had I not been so impatient to hear our posting, I may have actually appreciated the significance of this moment and what it meant to my husband. I knew he’d forgive me though, as he understood just how much anxiety this all was causing me.
Oath complete, it appeared that we were finally going to do the presentation of flags. I eyed the banquet tables arranged in a line across the front of the gymnasium. Spread across those tables were 91 different flags—each representing a country that would be assigned to an Officer today. It was an impressive sight. I did manage to pay attention long enough to hear the speaker say that officers would be called up in random order and presented with the flag of the country they were going—hence, the name, Flag Day. I couldn’t help scanning them over, thinking: Which one is ours?
I listened intently as the officers/country pairs began being called. Each post we’d bid High on that got assigned to someone ratcheted my anxiety up just a little more. On the flip side, each time a Mexican border town got called, I gave a silent prayer of thanks. Who knew this would be so stressful?
I was literally sitting on the edge of my chair, praying for them to say our name. My prayers didn’t seem to be working; the flags were dwindling. I visualized our list, trying to remember what was still left. Two of the three Manila positions had been assigned and now all the European posts we’d bid on were gone too. Things were not looking good.
After what seemed like an eternity Nick’s name was finally called. “Nick Novak. Manila, Philippines!” Relief washed over me as I unconsciously let out a shriek of joy. Oh My God. We got our #1 pick! I began to relax for the first time since that fateful mid-October afternoon when I’d signed on to this adventure. Things were looking up. Maybe this would work out after all…
THE END. :)
