Be a Woman

A reader told me she has a friend who writes beautiful poetry, about what it means to be a girl growing up and a woman living in Mexico. I met a young woman Friday whose name is Anaïs. I asked her if she was named for Anaïs Nin, one of my favorite authors. Her mother had named her after Nin, a woman who wrote about some uniquely female experiences. My ten-year-old granddaughter writes poetry. A while back, I put some poetry in Hero In Your Soul. It enabled me to express some very powerful emotions about my older sister in such a cathartic way.

Across the world, the girls and women of Mirman Baheer bravely compose poetry in Afghanistan. Eliza Griswold wrote a compelling piece about them in the April 27, 2012 issue of New York Times Magazine. How different my life would be if I would have been born in Afghanistan instead of here in America. It's likely my date of birth would not even be recorded because girls are just not that important, and that I would not have been allowed to go to school. I can't even imagine how awful that would have been, for school was my saving grace, as I have written in a previous post here. If I did learn to read or write, it would have been in secret. Doing something as brazen as composing poetry could get me at the least, beaten, or at the worst, killed. What I have taken for granted, the privilege of expressing myself freely and openly, is something that is denied many of my sisters around the world. I believe I need to do something about this, but I haven't figured out what to do yet. It just isn't right that I should have this privilege and they should not.

We women in America have finally arrived. We are now afforded all the privileges that men have enjoyed. The struggle here is over, thanks to our sisters, aunts, mothers, grandmothers and great-grandmothers. But we haven't come this far to become complacent. We should not rest until every little girl in the world is allowed to go to school, until we have created such a place where every woman can be a poet.

When I was a little girl, the older girls had good-smelling cedar chests called "hope chests." They would collect things to be used later in their homes, when they married. A silver teapot. A beautiful tablecloth. A baby's rattle. In England, a hope chest is called a "glory box." Hope chests as furniture have sort of fallen out of fashion, but hopes and dreams in the hearts of little girls have not.

I challenge myself as I challenge my female readers. What can we do to give these women hope? What can we do so that they can experience all the glory of being a woman?

Susan

"Glory Box" by Geoff Barrow, Beth Gibbons, Adrian Utley and Isaac Hayes

Reality

One of the fun things about being a parent is seeing your kids experience things for the first time and watching their reactions. We had a lot of good times as a family with our boat. One year we went on a spring break trip with two other families. We had eight boys among us, my older son being 12 at the time and the youngest probably 6. We were at a campground on a lake, and when we weren't playing in the water, the boys liked to do what my older son called "exploring." One day they set out to explore a hill with my older son as the leader. It felt safe for them to do that because we could see everything from our campsite. The hill had little ledges on it. We adults all sat there talking and watching the boys across the way have fun. We noticed a young couple, probably late teens or early 20's, approach the general area of our sons. The woman was wearing a two-piece swimsuit and was very slightly built. Bear with me, because you'll need this information for later in my story. The couple sat down on a ledge, and the woman took off her swimsuit top.

Shortly after that, the pack of boys came around the corner and happened upon this sight. The couple was visibly startled, and the young woman quickly covered herself up, but not before the kids all got a good look. The couple decided to move on, probably to find a more private place.

When the kids came back to the campsite, they told us all about the lady with no swimsuit top. Everyone was sort of talking all at once, then it quieted down and my son had an expression of disappointed confusion on his face as he said, "I thought breasts were supposed to be big." His dad gently explained that people and their body parts come in all sizes. Reality can be so harsh sometimes, no?

Susan

The News

My friend's boyfriend crashed her computer by being on the Fox News website. Not really. He was on that website, and her computer just happened to die at that exact time. Her daughter and I had fun with him on that one. He's a nice guy, but pretty conservative.

I think it's important for all of us to keep up with what's going on in the world. How can we change the world when we don't even know what's happening? One of the many wonderful things about the internet is we can choose from different sources. I like the way The Guardian, a UK newspaper, reports on happenings here in the US. It's a unique perspective. Some news sources are more credible than others.

There is a lot of bad stuff and sad stuff out there, and sometimes it seems like that's all we read or see. A lot of journalism has been sensationalized, too. There is much of good in the world, and for every horrible story there are many great stories out there. Every day people like you and I, who in our own small way, make the world a happier place. Imagine the headlines:

"Well-known politician is faithful to his wife"
"Dedicated mother drives straight home from work each night"
"Patient father helps his reluctant daughter with homework"
"Great son puts all his dirty dishes in the dishwasher"
"Tired husband still makes time to rub his wife's feet"
"Honest employee treats business as if it was his own"
"Dedicated teacher treats special needs children with kindness"
"Divorced couple co-parent children with consistency and teamwork"
"Big sister reads to her younger siblings"

Susan

Pink

My car is a Volkswagen Beetle. Pink. It's her color and her name. For years, I would say it would be great to have a pink Beetle. Or a purple one. I would imagine buying one in one of the standard colors and having it painted. It isn't an uncommon fantasy for women, I have discovered.

For years, I drove a reliable Toyota Camry. They are great cars and mine was wonderful. One day I was thinking about how the Camry was thirteen, kind of reaching that point where things start to go wrong. Just out of curiosity, I went to autotrader.com and looked up Beetles. I put in my price range and my zip code, nothing else in the search field. I was just exploring what I could get for what I wanted to pay. Soon I had the result of my search. Guess who popped up first? You are probably already ahead of me here. Pink. A Beetle that was ALREADY pink. Wow. What are the chances? She was ridiculously overpriced. I saw that when I Kelley Blue Booked a Beetle and then looked into the price of custom paint. Even with her gorgeous color, the asking price was way too much. But still...

The next morning, I started up the Camry and the check engine light came on and stayed on. Now you and I both know a check engine light can mean very little, and in this case I just took it to my mechanic and he cleared it for me. But it seemed strangely coincidental. It could mean nothing, but still...

I called Pink's owner, and we arranged a meeting. Love at first sight, no doubt about it. We talked a little bit about price. My mechanic checked Pink out and she got a clean bill of health. Some people like to say that VW's are expensive to maintain and repair, and that it's hard to find someone to work on them. That is because they are German cars, and not everyone knows how to work on German cars. My mechanic and Pink seemed to get along just fine. I decided on a fair price that I was willing to pay, and as we negotiated, Pink's owner and I arrived at a number we could both live with. Pink has been mine now for over a year. She has a personality all her own. She takes me where I want to go.

A couple of weeks ago, a little girl, maybe age 4 or 5, was in the grocery store parking lot with her mom and they exclaimed over the wonderfulness and wonderfilledness of Pink. Then the little girl put her hands on her hips, looked at me with a most serious expression and said, "Cars don't come in pink." Her mom explained to her that no they don't, you have to have them specially painted.

Cars don't come in pink. No. They don't. But sometimes they do.

Susan

Depth

Both my sons played sports as they were growing up. It took me to a new world, one I hadn't known before. Back then the kids were allowed to bounce the soccer ball off their heads, a practice which has stopped because of the risk of concussions. I remember the first time I saw it, I thought "How terrible..." but I am nothing if not supportive, so I kept my concerns about his brain to myself. (His brain is fine.) I am proud to tell you I know the difference between a perfect game and a no-hitter. I can appreciate a team having a deep bench. "They have a lot of depth," I will say, nodding my head wisely. When it comes to sports, I know things.

Depth. Our human relationships have depth. I have this theory that each person who comes into our lives does so for at least two reasons. For example, she might be your next door neighbor. He may be another dad on the school field trip. Those are the obvious reasons. But there is always a second reason the person crossed your path. It could be that you become ill, and that neighbor's father is a retired surgeon who gives you invaluable guidance and advice.  It could be that you would love to work for a certain company and that dad in your child's class knows someone doing the recruiting there. Networking. You know people who know people.

Now the people in our more intimate circle likely are there for more than just two reasons. I think it's a minimum of two. Hopefully our closest relationships are the deepest.

Last night my friend and I were talking about her career and a direction she might like to go. I mentioned the names of some of her clients and shared with her my theory. "Who knows why these people are in your life?" I asked.

My theory is just my theory. It has no science behind it. But it is rather interesting that this morning, my friend forwarded an email to me. It was from one of the clients I named last night, and it had a suggestion about something that just might prove to be a real bonus to her career. The client sent it at 10:35 last night, right around the time she and I were having this conversation. Interesting, no?

Susan

Hypocrisy

"Who you are speaks so loudly, I cannot hear what you say." Ralph Waldo Emerson

A while back I had an interview for a job as personal assistant to a motivational speaker. If I told you his name, it's likely you have heard of him. Brilliant man. I didn't meet him, because I didn't make it to that third interview where I would actually be talking with him. I was a little disappointed, because I thought it would be great to be a part of his organization and what he talks about ties into my philosophy about life really well.

The woman from his company who interviewed me over the phone told me how demanding he is, what a perfectionist he is. I thought back to the first man for whom I was a personal assistant, back in the day when we were called secretaries. I was all of 19 years old when I went to work for him, and was with him for 5 years, which is 25% of your life when you are that age. I thought if I could handle him, I could handle anyone. During the second interview, which was at their offices, she told me again how demanding he was. There were two other people who joined the second interview, and with knowing glances and nods to each other, they also told me how demanding he can be.

So I didn't get the job. Several months later, one of my classmates mentioned that she was assistant to a motivational speaker, and I asked if it was him. It wasn't, but she said her boss knows him, and he is a "terrible person." She said he treats everyone like crap. She added that the one time she had met him, she offered her hand for a handshake, and he took it then publicly humiliated her by berating her in a loud voice for how limp her handshake was and how poor her eye contact was. Then he immediately turned and walked away from her. Summarily dismissed. This young woman was in my public speaking class, and she came across in all of her speeches as mature and poised and extremely well spoken. She carries herself very well, and I will bet that her handshake is plenty firm enough and her eye contact is plenty direct enough. But not good enough for this man, I guess.

So he's not "demanding." He's mean. And what he says in his workshops, and what he writes in his books, sounds wonderful, but it's not what he lives. Hypocrisy. No one is perfect, but if you're going to say it, you need to have the guts to live it. The man I worked for back when I was her age was demanding. But he wasn't mean and he wasn't a hypocrite.

I really have a beef with people who treat those under them like they are beneath them. I really have a beef with older people who treat younger people with disrespect. To make a long story short, I am glad I didn't get that job because I have a feeling this man and I just never would have gotten along.


Susan

Earworm

Tapeworm, ringworm, hookworm, earworm. Earworm is when a song gets in your head and you can't get it out, even when you desperately wish you could. Yesterday as I pulled into the parking lot at work, this song that I adore was playing on the radio, so I generously shared my version of it with my fellow workers throughout the day. It is only right that I do the same for you. Enjoy your earworm! Toniiiiiiiiight we are young...

Susan

"We Are Young" written by Jeffrey Bhasker, Jack Antonoff, Andrew Dost and Nathaniel Ruess