Monthly Archives: January 2017

01.30.17
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#WhyIMarch

A week ago Saturday, I participated in the Women’s March L.A. with two dear friends  from college (one my former roommate) and another long-time local friend. A protest march with 750,000 other people is probably the last thing I’d ever see myself doing. So why did I march?

First, let me establish a few basic things about myself:

  • I have voted in every presidential election since I turned 18 (and for both Democratic and Republican candidates)
  • I don’t hate men (in fact, I’ve been happily married to one for almost 28 years and proudly parented one for almost 24)
  • I am a woman of faith (Christian)
  • I acknowledge and honor the President, and pray for him every day
  • I come from a military family (my son is active duty and my husband and father both retired)
  • I am not completely aligned with either major U.S. political party (I wish there were more moderates in government today)
  • I love my country deeply and I’m proud to be an American
  • Up until Saturday, I have never participated in a march, rally or protest of any kind

So, why did I march? For me, it came from a deeply spiritual place.

A book that has profoundly influenced me is “Faith and Feminism” by Helen LaKelly Hunt. See Alive and Well Women: Our First Grant! Hunt points out that early feminists were women whose faith propelled them to action in areas of human rights, such as the abolitionist movement. The second wave U.S. feminist movement became secularized in the 60s. Elsewhere in the world, however, feminism and faith continue to be more closely aligned.

Through the lives of some early faith-based feminists, Hunt illustrates the “journey to wholeness” which she proposes as a structure for both personal evolution as well as for bridging the religious-secular split in modern feminism as a whole. The five stages of the journey to wholeness are (1) pain, (2) shadow , (3) voice, (4) action, and (5) communion.

My official Women's March button

My official Women’s March button

My journey to the Women’s March started with a growing recognition of pain. I have challenged myself, particularly over the past 10-15 years, to cultivate relationships with a wide spectrum of people representing other religions, ethnicities, gender and sexual orientation. Through these relationships, I have become acutely aware that I largely won the birth lottery.  I was born into a white, Protestant, Republican, middle-class, educated family in the United States of America, and for most of my life I have been blissfully oblivious of this great privilege. Other than some bias I encountered in my professional life as a woman, I have not faced the severe discrimination, mistreatment or hardship, even hatred (some of it on a daily basis) that my diverse circle has forced me to recognize.

During the course of the most recent presidential election and transition, my pain only increased as I witnessed the escalating racist, misogynist, homophobic rhetoric, and saw the effect on people I’ve grown to cherish as friends.   I increasingly sensed this intense pain pushing me toward a doorway to action, demanding a deeper meaning and purpose to my life.   I thought and prayed daily about what Jesus would do, and discerned a growing conviction to use my voice to speak my truth. I wrote about this in Speak Up!.   Finding my voice means finding the courage to tell my story in an authentic way. It’s somewhat frightening writing this post, even having cordial conversations with close friends and family who do not share many of my political views. I worry about damaging or losing those relationships by speaking my mind. I’m learning to see these as opportunities to practice speaking my truth with love, and with respect for other viewpoints.

I have now come to the stage of action. Helen Hunt writes that once we have found our true voice, it’s time then to act and to bring our values into the world in a concrete form. For me, the Women’s March was the first step (no pun intended) in that process. I understand that big shifts are underway in our country as we move from more liberal philosophies and policies to more conservative. I have concerns, but I am not deeply disturbed. This, after all, is what democracy is all about. I pray that these macro shifts bring the intended economic benefits to our country. However, I do feel deep concern that, in the midst of these shifts, there may be severe displacement and hardship on the poor and powerless and our planet. Perhaps we are moving toward a country where the government no longer provides the same level of safety net, in which case I feel called as a Christian to step into the breach. Part of my responsibility as a Christian is to help care for, and defend, the “poor'” which includes a broad range of disadvantaged groups. My biggest fear, however, is that the treatment of certain classes will be worse than neglect; rather, that government-sanctioned or government-led persecution may result. I worry about the erosion of what I believe to be deeply valued democratic principles. My fear of this has only escalated in the week since the inauguration.

And so I marched. It was a day I’ll never forget – a glorious, crisp sunny day in Los Angeles, a brilliant miracle in the midst of several cold, gray days of heavy rain. My college friends came from out of town to join me and another close friend, and we met my niece and grandniece downtown. We wore Wonder Woman accessories. The mood was upbeat and positive, the signs hilarious, heartrending and clever, and a pervasive optimistic hopefulness settled on the huge crowd (and in which I never felt the slightest bit unsafe).

Wonder Women Marchers, along with our 750,000 new friends

Me and my sister Wonder Women Marchers, along with our 750,000 new friends

I didn’t agree with everyone and everything at the March. But my participation represented a show of support for those whose voices may not be heard and who may be in danger. It represented a celebration of my constitutional right to free speech and assembly. It represented expression of a deeply felt conviction that my faith compelled me to show up and speak up. It represented my steely resolve, along with my close-knit group of females beside me, that we will not cede ground that we and other women before us have fought so hard to achieve. I am sad, but not deterred, that some considered the march disrespectful, un-American, unpatriotic, or sacrilegious. For me, it was exactly the opposite. And by the grace of God, look out world, I’m only getting started!

 

 

01.19.17
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Remembering John

2016 was a brutal year. And in its final days, it stole the life of one of my dearest friends. John’s death was tragic, sudden, and wholly unexpected.

I first met John almost 29 years ago, in April of 1988, probably on the first day of my new job at Mercer. He was the kind of person you would notice right away. Three things always stood out: (1) his looks (young, tall, handsome, and always impeccably dressed) (2) his laugh (raucous and infectious), and (3) that mouth (loud and profane).

About a year into the job, when I tried to play match-maker between a single young woman, who worked as my paralegal, and John (who, as previously noted, was drop-dead gorgeous), she politely informed me that John was gay. The fact that I was so astonished shows how naïve I was at the time, and how much I had yet to learn. I had yet to experience the John Canova Tutorial on Life & Style.

I worked closely with the group that John was part of, and as time went by and the number in the group diminished, I found myself working more and more with John. I began to see that, under that brash, flamboyant, irreverent exterior, was one of the most genuine persons I’ve ever known. John gradually crept into and occupied a place in my heart as I slowly and unexpectedly found a generous, caring and loyal friend. In our large, competitive work environment, there were always competing agendas and shifting alliances, and I was forced to always watch my back.  John was one of the few (maybe the only) colleague who I never doubted had mine.

John and I at my retirement celebration in August 2013

John and I at my retirement celebration in August 2013

I encountered a very rough patch the first year back on the job after giving birth to my son. I was tired, distracted, and trying to find my work-life equilibrium. John was a teammate of mine on two of my largest clients, and he went out of his way to help me, in a variety of ways – whether cutting me slack on deadlines, pitching in where I needed assistance, or even sticking up for me when others in the office complained about my new part-time schedule. When one of my colleagues repeatedly grumbled that I “wasn’t pulling my load,” I heard (after the fact) that John paid a special visit and flatly told that person to “f*@k off.” I was mortified and delighted.

And we had such fun together on business trips! Once we went to a 403(b) conference in Denver. We flew in late at night, took a cab for what seemed like miles (at one point, John asked the driver, “Are we in Wyoming?”) and arrived quite late at our hotel. We met for dinner, and since we were both starving, ordered the huge rib-eye steak special. The next day, we were so dehydrated from the altitude and protein that we could barely stay awake, much less concentrate on the complex details of the tax code being taught. We laughed for years about the time we “ate a side of beef, a mile high, at a 403(b) conference.”

Another time, we flew to Nashville to do a compliance review on a 401(k) plan. We ate chicken-fried foodstuff at the Cracker Barrel (the first and only time I’ve been) and laughed at the Big-Hair ladies, we walked around the Opryland Hotel, and then got horribly lost on the way to our hotel in rural Tennessee. We found ourselves on back country roads, and John remarked that he was expecting men in white robes with burning crosses to appear from behind the trees. Which launched us into hysterics for no good reason. We stopped at a 7-Eleven to ask directions and John re-enacted his conversation with the “snaggle-tooth meth addict” clerk for me. Oh, he was so inappropriate, and all I could do was laugh!

Then there was the time that John and I were on our way to a meeting at Cal State University headquarters in Long Beach and we missed our turnoff and kept going right over a very long bridge. Even though we were late for our client meeting, we laughed uncontrollably all the way over the bridge and back.

Many days, in the office, at around 4:00, a bunch of us would gather in my office, to laugh and gossip, and basically blow off steam from our stressful day. When John was there, he and I would invariably start down some path of discussion (again, usually something wholly inappropriate) that would result in side-splitting fits of laughter, with tears streaming down both of our faces. There are only a handful of people in my lifetime that have consistently made me laugh that hard, and John was the best.

Apart from all the fun, there was a serious, sensitive side to John that I grew to admire. We talked about almost everything in our lives with each other and I valued his opinion because I knew he was always honest in his feedback. Likewise, he trusted me with his struggles, and we discussed everything from his challenges as a gay man to his heartbreak over his mother’s decline due to Alzheimer’s disease. My long friendship with John opened my eyes and informed me, and gave me new perspectives on numerous issues, and for that I am indebted to him.

Christmas cookies with John and Andy 2015

Christmas cookies with John and Andy 2015

After 25 years on the job (all of them with John) I took early retirement from Mercer in 2013. I wondered if my work friendships would survive the transition to retirement. I found several lasted a few months, but only a very few endured as lasting friendships. John’s friendship was probably the strongest. He continued to call me regularly (his favorite pet name for me was “Treasure,” along with “Bettina” and “Lamb”), and we enjoyed seeing each other for lunch and museum dates.   Once, when my son came home from college and needed a new suit, John met us at the Macy’s in Sherman Oaks and we shopped for a sharp-looking suit. Every Christmas, we made holiday cookies together at my house. And on December 17, 2016, my husband and I had dinner with John and Andy (John’s partner) to celebrate the holiday season. When we hugged and said good night, and he called me Treasure, I had no idea that would be our last time.

For me, a bright light has gone out, forever. Someone who has been in my corner, in my heart, for almost half my life, has left.  There will never ever be another John, and I will always cherish the memories of a sweet and beautiful friend.