Category: Personal Growth

  • Honoring Trailblazing Women

    Gloria Steinem and Robin Morgan’s passing affected me—not as loss, but more like a gong whose vibrating waves of sound I feel in my bones, reminding me of the extraordinary time I’ve lived in. For 50 years, their influence shaped so much of how I’ve lived my life. They also had a far-reaching impact on the larger world that cannot be overstated.

    Photo by Gage Skidmore from Peoria, AZ, United States of America, CC BY-SA 2.0 via Wikimedia Commons
    RMBMPhotos. The original uploader was Sloggerbum at English Wikipedia., CC BY-SA 3.0 via Wikimedia Commons

    Steinem, Morgan, and the other leaders in the second wave feminist movement showed generations of women a range of possibilities for how a woman could live her life. Their vision and hopes turned into expectations, and became the scaffolding for my life choices and that of millions of other women and men. Who would I have been without their inspiration? How would the world look?

    Today, a woman with a career is unremarkable and that for me is remarkable, because I can remember when it wasn’t true. In the late 1970s, when two female medical residents showed up in the ER where I clerked, some of us cheered while others gave them a hard time. For context, at the time, I knew of only two female physicians in the hospital, reflecting an era when 12-13% of physicians were women. Currently, approximately 38% of active physicians are women. A similar increase is true for many industries.

    When I was a new college writing instructor, I was shocked when some of the male senior faculty tried to restrict me and other female instructors from professional opportunities. Fortunately for me, a gender discrimination lawsuit in a different part of the university upended the senior faculty’s plan to keep us in our place.

    As editor of MS. Magazine, Robin Morgan and other writers inspired me to consider having a career as well as a family. Women have always worked—inside and outside the home—but the articles in MS. motivated me to get a graduate degree in English so I could teach. To marry a man who believed in sharing housework, cooking, and parenting, one who appreciated my wish to keep my maiden name. Later he encouraged me to launch my marketing communications business. Together we raised two feminist sons.

    The feminist philosophy I advocate is all about choices. If mothering and homemaking are a woman’s heart, do that. If a career beckons, do that. If you want both, as I did, go for it! Each option has challenges and trade-offs, but the alternatives should be up to the individual, not society. Similarly, I can’t abide women bullying other women about their decisions. I believe true feminism should free men to follow their hearts to the roles they want, including stepping back from the rigid expectation of being the main breadwinners.

    Gloria Steinem was the face of modern feminism in the Western world. Beyond her impact on me personally, is the legacy that has shaped contemporary life.

    First woman this, first woman that. Today, our culture barely notes those accomplishments because Steinem and associated leaders have normalized the idea of women doing whatever they are interested in and capable of. They also made it more possible for men to have parental leave and career flexibility, including being a stay-at-home parent.

    Plenty of inequities exist. None of this is perfect and the changes are uneven—many industries, cultures, and countries still restrict women’s opportunities. But now expanded roles for women and men are possible; before Steinem and other feminist foremothers, they were unthinkable.

    Their ideas have become so widely accepted we think this is the way the world just is, and should be. Today, their influence is even felt in developing countries.

    Two examples come to mind. Wells Bring Hope, an organization with whom I volunteer, enables girls and women in Niger and Mali (some of the poorest countries in the world) to get an education and start small businesses like selling the vegetables they grow. The women live in deeply conservative Islamic cultures where tradition had always dictated their pursuits, yet they are embracing the chance to do more.

    Secondly, I briefly interacted with a young Afghan woman who had been resettled in Minneapolis after the U.S. pulled out of Afghanistan. She had worked for the State Department teaching English during a break in Taliban rule. From the 1920s through the 1970s, women’s access to education and professional work see-sawed in Afghanistan, depending on the monarch or ruling party. For much of the young Afghan woman’s life, the Taliban often viciously restricted women’s opportunities. Yet she and the people in her community encouraged her education and profession. Worldwide feminism advanced that.

    I am grateful to Gloria Steinem, Robin Morgan, and other leaders. Because of them I’ve been lucky to be part of a generation of women who had choices. The younger generation in my family has also had more options.

    I hope the past five decades are not a special Camelot time that will disappear. Fifty years from now will people say, “Remember when women used to think they had equal rights. Wasn’t that crazy?”

    Our gains are fragile. Reversal is possible and already underway in some American political movements. Recent lawsuits have shifted to protect white males’ civil rights at the expense of women and people of color. Reproductive rights are no longer protected federally. Both initiatives undermine a woman’s ability to live the life she chooses.

    I hope Gloria Steinem and Robin Morgan’s vision is too widespread and too powerful to ever be truly eradicated. We can’t go back

  • My New Rocket

    I recently bought an electric vehicle, which we’ll use as our around town car. After much research, we settled on a Hyundai Ioniq 5 because it’s highly rated and has AWD. Owning an EV launched me into a whole new mode of transport. Not exactly a jet pack, but definitely a different way of thinking about getting around.

    Some mind shift was inevitable. My RAV4 was 15 years old. Any modern car would have been a shock to my system. But it was time for some upgrades. To use the phone handsfree, I relied on an aftermarket media center we’d installed. Sometimes the tiny microphone and speakers worked. Often the system hissed during calls and wasn’t worth the trouble. I didn’t have a backup camera. In parking lots, I’d learned to swivel my head like a horror movie villain to spot any oblivious people walking behind my car.

    The Ioniq 5 is a beauty! Gray green with light gray interior. Sleek and modern looking. It has good pickup and handles well. It also has a million systems and functions I’m only beginning to understand.

    Fob + push button start. Keys were easy to remember. They were integral to unlocking and starting the RAV, but now there’s no reason for the fob to leave my purse. After decades of obsessively managing keys, this is a disconnect—one of many. 

    My phone can open the car. Until my husband (thank goodness I’m married to a very patient tech genius!) reconfigured it, the car unlocked whenever I walked by with my phone in my pocket. That’s OK in my garage. Not OK in parking lots. Eventually it would lock up again, but the uncertainty made me uneasy. Now I touch a magic spot on the door handle to lock and unlock the car.

    My car knows me (and likes me, I’m sure). When I open the door, it adjusts the seat and mirrors to my exact preferences. It greets me when my phone syncs. Nice, but a bit of overkill. My RAV never spoke to me (it was more of a humble workhorse), and adjusting the seat wasn’t an issue since no one else drove it. 

    Finding good driving tunes can be a lot. Now I have AM/FM plus Apple Tunes and Sirius. And way too many ways to change from an annoying song to something better. Toggle controls on the steering wheel up and down. Or press Star for Favorites. Or slide through 3-4 screens on the electronic control panel and push buttons. Whoa! Maybe I’d better pull over to do that. Thanks to the Tech Genius, I now can get from the local NPR station to Bluesville on Sirius and back. One day I may even figure out how to play a podcast. What I don’t hear is road noise. Only the EV hum. 

    There are endless ways to fuss with the temperature. The car is engineered so my comfort and the front seat passenger’s are paramount. Each of us can specify our preferences. Probably there are ways to enhance backseat passengers’ comfort (one day I’ll figure that out). 

    I can choose AC, fan/no fan, or I could even open the windows. The car also has air-cooled seats. (Wh a a a t?? Crazy, but good.) If I mindlessly set my temp at 71, the car will do everything in its power to keep it there including turning on AC without asking. If I turn off the AC, the fan will come on full blast in attempt to maintain 71 degrees. Wait, I didn’t mean it! 73 degrees with the window open a little is fine.

    Let’s not overlook the obvious—battery instead of gas tank. In the olden days, when the RAV was down to a quarter tank, I refilled. I got approximately 22 mpg, and a tank lasted about two weeks, since I just drove around town. Fill-ups ranged from $36 to $48.

    When I get in, the battery may be at 80%. Or 61%. The question remains: how much battery do I need for my ordinary trips? I. Do. Not. Want. To. Run. Out. That’s not likely since I’m only putting on 70 – 90 miles per week and the car has a range of 280 miles. 

    How often to recharge is a different learning curve. Before we had a high-speed plugin installed, we charged the slow way, which added about 10% to the battery overnight. I didn’t let the battery get too far down. 

    Now the high-speed system adds 25% in about 1-1.5 hours and costs $1.06 or $5.25 to charge the battery from 20% to 80% (car batteries last longer if they’re not charged to 100%). Hmmm. $5.25 for electricity every two weeks vs. an average of $42 for a tank of gas. Even I can do that math, and I love reducing the role of fossil fuels in my life.

    No more oil changes. It took a minute to register maintenance will be very different. No engine, so no lube and oil. No exhaust, so no muffler system. Now maintenance is the mothership computer talking to my computer on wheels. I’ll still need tire rotations and a filter or two. (Wait, how will I get my car washed if I never go to the gas station?)

    Although the technology surprises and baffles me sometimes, eventually I’ll master the major systems. I’m brave. I’m fierce. I’m doing this . . . with help from the Tech Genius. Most days I really enjoy this brave new world of transport.

  • The Mirror

    What a twelve-year-old learns to survive sometimes becomes the skill she uses decades later at a poker table.

    Lying didn’t come naturally to me. I was twelve when I realized, quite suddenly, that I wouldn’t survive my family’s chaos if I didn’t learn how.

    I stood in front of the assistant principal, heat climbing up my neck and into my face. I could feel the redness spreading across my cheeks. The corners of my mouth twitched. My eyes kept sliding away from his.

    He asked the question again.

    I tried to answer, but the truth was written all over me. My breathing had changed. My hands shifted at my sides. My face burned like a signal light.

    I remember thinking: This is a problem.

    That afternoon, when I got home, I went straight into the bathroom and closed the door behind me. I turned on the light and stood in front of the mirror. I shut the household noise off and stared at my reflection.

    I knew exactly what to do.

    I looked into my own eyes and said the words out loud.

    “I didn’t do it.
    I wasn’t there.
    It wasn’t me.
    I don’t know how that happened.”

    My face flushed immediately. My mouth tightened. My eyes shifted away.

    So I tried again.

    And again.

    I practiced until the red stopped rising in my face. Until my breathing stayed steady. Until I could hold my own gaze without flinching. I practiced until my shoulders relaxed and my voice sounded ordinary.

    I practiced until my body stopped betraying me.

    That was the day I learned that unless someone actually saw me do something, I could lie convincingly.

    When I was nineteen, I had a different realization.

    I was mowing the lawn on a nice summer day. I paused, looked to the sky, and watched the clouds drift.

    And it hit me.

    I was exactly where I had said I would be.

    No excuses.
    No stories.
    No explanations.

    Just the truth.

    There was freedom in that.

    A lightness.

    I remember thinking: This is better. I have no reason to lie anymore. I’m safe.

    I went back to the mirror. I stood there looking at myself and said, quietly at first, “I love me.”

    My eyes slid away from my own reflection.

    So I said it again.

    “I love me.”

    I stayed there repeating it until I could look myself straight in the eyes without my gaze moving off the mirror.

    “I love me.
    I love me.
    I love me.”

    It felt strange. Uncomfortable.

    Slowly the words settled.

    I believed me.

    Today, I still practice with a mirror.

    Before a poker tournament starts, I give myself the same quiet talk.

    “I love me.
    I’ve beaten everyone at this table before.
    I can beat them today.
    Play my cards.
    Trust myself.”

    Poker is about many things—math, probability, timing—but there is another part of it people don’t always talk about.

    Control.

    At the poker table, I can keep my emotions exactly the same whether I’m holding a seven and a two or a pair of aces. My breathing stays steady. My hands rest in the same place. My face doesn’t give anything away.

    No tells.

    Sometimes I think about that twelve-year-old girl standing in the bathroom mirror, practicing how not to show the truth on her face. She didn’t know it then, but she was learning something about herself, about discipline, about control, about surviving difficult moments without falling apart.

    Poker uses those same muscles.

    But it also asks for something more.

    It asks me to stay present.

    Every hand is a surprise. Every card an unknown. Sometimes the deck gives you everything. Sometimes it gives you nothing.

    And when it gives me nothing, that’s okay too.

    I can push my chair back, smile across the table, and say,

    “Nice game, ladies.”

    Because the real victory happened long before the cards were dealt.

    It happened the day I learned to look at myself in the mirror and tell the truth.