Category: NEXT: An Empowerment Series

Decades before ThredUp, Poshmark, or even EBay were where millions shopped second hand, I was a thrifter. As a student on work study or a waitress saving for a trip to Barcelona, my fashion fix fit within my Goodwill budget. Unlike a quick click on my laptop to indulge in an instant Amazon acquisition, thrifting meant extended hours of enjoyment in the hunt. (Those neuropathways from our hunting and gathering ancestors run deep.) Even on the rare occasions when I walked out of the Salvation Army empty handed, I always had affordable amusement. It was like going to an art

Sales of sweatpants up. Sales of suits down. Standards are shifting. Selections from drawers and closets are simply not the same in our virtual and remote worlds.  Expectations are different, too. Tardiness to a training, once taken as a sign of disrespect, now simply means Alex had to let their dog out to pee at the last minute.  Logically we know that in the context of the coronavirus our ideas of how we must perform cannot remain the same. But it isn’t easy. We still want what we want when we want it and when we said Friday was the deadline, we meant Friday.  We know we need a new perspective. We need to see our measures of merit differently because life is simply not the same.  The lens of understanding is required when your friend just checked

Each week at 7:55 a.m. I hit “Send”. My weekly ritual is intended help to my coworkers living in these times. My Teeny Tiny Tuesday Tips range from how to do 4 x 4 deep breathing to how to make mini-habits.  By Thursday it had already been a challenging week. I’d just returned from seeing a friend with early onset dementia. That afternoon while on Zoom (preparing to facilitate a panel on ethics in a pandemic), one person had to hop off—they had COVID. Just minutes before, I’d learned of yet another friend newly diagnosed.  By evening I decided to follow my own advice given just two days prior. I gave myself permission to set my phone aside for 20 minutes and relax in the warm waters of my antique claw foot tub. I drew my

“I’m surprised by the depth of my sadness,” I say, tears falling from eyes still swollen from the news of the day before. “She meant a lot to a lot of people who fought for justice, especially for the oppressed,” my sweetheart comforts.  Yes. A lot. From little girls to longtime lawyers.  One gift of the many past deaths of those I cherished is that loss of a life—no matter how extraordinary— can be seen with some measure of perspective.  A week later, my eyes clearer, I see how Ruth paved my personal path for decades.  In the 1970s while she argued landmark cases on women’s rights, I was a budding feminist. I read Ms. Magazine monthly. I marched in protest to sexist policies. I applied to law school.   The announcement of RBG’s 1993 appointment was unforgettable. I sat glued to

“What did you wear?” she asked enthusiastically. It was a sweet acknowledgment that the talk I’d given that day was of some import. “Wait. Let me guess. You wore black.” I chuckled at the teasing of my friend knowing my closet is full of black dresses, black shirts, and black skirts. In my immediate defense I describe the delicate ivory blouse that peaked out from under my black jacket and the vintage necklace hung alongside it. Most mornings after meditation, tea, and vitamin D – I make my way my dresser where strands of white, gold, black, silver, and red

The September the sky was still dark as we arrived at the airport. The few parked cars scattered across the giant lots looked lonely. We entered the terminal and an eerie silence surrounded the attentive airline agents waiting at their stations. Travelers were noticeably on edge. This was not September in a global pandemic. Rather, it was the September when, just two weeks prior, four terrorist attacks on the morning of 9/11 killed thousands. Like the autumn day in 1963 when Sister Leodegar stood somberly at the front of the classroom to tell us that President Kennedy had been shot,

9/8   Dad’s birthday. He would have turned 101 but he died at 64, the age I am now 9/11 A shared memory of tragedy for our entire county 9/14 Death of my husband John 9/20 Birth of my first child September is always big for me, from being sworn in as a member of the bar to becoming a certified life coach.  September also brings my favorite season. It’s a reminder of back to school, the place of positive childhood attention.  The fields of the Midwestern countryside and the turning leaves on the oaks wear the warm tones of golds

“Don’t look back,” he said as we parted.  For a decade after a divorce I’d been goodbye-ing my children.  But this time, instead a farewell at his father’s front door, I left my youngest on a lawn thousand miles away from home.  He was 15.  Introverted and incredibly intelligent, he was too smart for high schools and I wasn’t smart enough for home school. Instead of starting his sophomore year with his classmates, he entered his freshman year at college. He stood alone under a sunny sky amidst a campus of strangers as I walked to my rental car weeping without shame.  It wasn’t a pandemic, but it wasn’t the back to school we planned. There would be no parent teacher conference to meet his teachers. No open house to see his classrooms. And, there would be no cell phones.  Will he be safe? Will

“Fifteen minutes is a long time,” she said, the 4th of July sun beating down on her. I was shocked. According to this straight A, double major college student, many in her generation found mere minutes of waiting a barrier to registering to vote. It was hot on the rooftop. I felt my rising blood pressure make me hotter and my urge to pontificate escalate. Did she not know how suffragists were arrested, beaten, and jailed? How they were mocked for decades for their dedication making this right real? How Susan B. Anthony sacrificed all that she had for the

“Too dark of eyebrows. Too dark accentuates under eye and wrinkles. Use a wand for pink highlight in inner tear duct.”  My friend of 40 years gives me helpful advice.  For as long as I can remember she’s shared on everything from which type of Miracle-Gro to use in my window boxes to why Gevalia coffee was an essential morning brew. She is a great researcher with as much life experience than me and her expertise is based on both.   My pal loves and only wants what’s best for me. So why did I pause upon receipt of this helpful tip in a tiny text? What was it that made me want to explain?  I put it on carelessly at the last minute.  It looks much lighter in the