While I may lack political power, star power, or excess capital, I still feel pretty powerful. Yes, me, an obscure, mom in suburbia.
I was reflecting and questioning why I felt powerful despite my obvious lack of power in any recognizable way—other than my ability to deliver a mean high spiral. I came up with an unusual answer. I feel powerful because I see potential; I can influence; I can connect; I make things better; I can use positive means to create good things in the world. It’s the power that George Eliot speaks of in his quote:
That I may live to be one of the best women, who make others glad that they were born.
Personal power. This brand of power is one I learned from one woman, my sister Marilee.
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| Marilee with her daughter Candie ~ 1996 |
Few things have shaped my life like this powerful woman. Yes, anytime I use the words “smart,” “sharp,” “great,” or “powerful” to describe her—I use those terms interchangeably—people think I am being judgemental. But I realize they may not share my perspective. So I’ll explain. I don’t mean she is a famous woman. I don’t mean she only is a woman with a high IQ or a laundry-list accomplishments. Unlike some of the women that are accomplished; she never finished college or worked jobs of any notoriety. She may or may not fit traditional social definitions of being attractive, yet I believe she is beautiful.
I’m talking about someone who brings to the table a sense of purpose, a sense of self. I don’t mean a 1980′s, fakey, “high-self-esteem” self, but an authentic sense of where she fits in. She just gets it; she is comfortable in bringing her own talents to the party. I love that she is her own flavor—like Baskin Robbins. She is totally cool with being butter pecan, even if chocolate fudge brownie is still the most popular. It was while growing up seeing just such a woman that helped me find my own footing.
I appreciate women who choose to emanate great energy and love (yes, choose). In a world of critics and insult, I admire women who choose to build and nurture friendship. This doesn’t mean cookie-cutter similarity; it means connecting despite differences. I draw strength from women who have integrity, who are resilient, who take life and ride it no matter how many times they get bucked around. I love women who tell their stories, who aren’t afraid to get real, personal, and emotional, sharing the good, the bad, and the ugly.
I appreciate those who take the time and make the effort to leave you better than they found you, to change your day with something as simple as a compliment. In my life, she has been the one of those women who have taught me how to skate, taught me how to make bread, mentored me in my profession, encouraged me in business, wept with me, served me, and served with me.
Sisterhood comes, in some sense, from shared biology and shared experience. However varied the lives of sisters may be—young, old, attached, unattached—the experiences of sisterhood shape and strengthen us and bind us.
My sister is one with whom I shared my growing up years, a bedroom, and Barbie dolls. Since she is eight years older than me, she is the person who was my wing-man whenever we moved to a new place.
So here you get it today: my shout out, pom-poms, rah-rah and so on for my sister's birth. I truly am glad that she was born.
