This rare week

A soapbox, a familiar friend, and two remarkable women

If you prefer to listen, I offer an audio recording here. ⤵️

This week, I have both of my daughters under my roof at the same time for the first time since 2024. These reunions feel increasingly precious as the years go on. One is home from four years in Australia, just passing through before she moves to Brazil. The other, who I see a couple times a year at best, arrived yesterday. For the next seven days, I intend to be as present as I possibly can.

I suspect you’ll recognize the feeling, whether or not you have kids of your own. Loving someone, really loving them, will fill you with awe at who they’re becoming, and then send you spiraling at the thought of everything they’ll have to navigate to get through life. The world I describe in this letter is the world my girls move through every day, on multiple continents, largely without me. That’s the terrifying part. The miraculous part is that they do it so beautifully.

So, it seemed like a good time to revisit something I wrote not long before we were last together, when I was equal parts furious and heartbroken about the state of things.

I’ll let the letter speak for itself from here.

Photo by N Kamalov on Unsplash

Take them out at the knees

Dear Joy,

I owe you an apology. You’ve been on my mind for a while now, but I’ve not made time to reach out, and your daily communications and recent gifts have been marvelously supportive all the while. I still believe in the value of a thank-you note, though texting is better than nothing, and I failed on both counts. You are a faithful correspondent who seems to know just what I need most, and when. The last thing I’d want to do is jeopardize our relationship by being out of touch. I’m sure I’ve said this before, and I can imagine you laughing as you read this, but I will try to do better. Again. I promise.

Life is full, my friend, so very full. No one knows that better than you, and yet you always find a way to rise above the noise. I’m not there yet. The world gets under my skin, and at present, I find my allergy to men has flared up again.

Now, I know what you’re thinking, and you’re right. There are exceptions to every sweeping generalization. As a matter of fact, the exceptions are the inspiration behind this letter—the exceptions and you, that is. I’ll circle back to that in a minute.

First, I need to air a few grievances. Something about getting them out of my head makes it easier to take them out at the knees.

Remember when the Supreme Court overturned Roe v. Wade? Speaking of buckled knees! That one left every American hobbled, whether or not everyone was willing to admit it.

You came through for me back then, and you’ve done it again, whether you realize it or not.

This time, it started with political mudslinging. I know you don’t waste your energy on that sort of thing, but mere mortals like me have a hard time steering clear of it. It’s not new, of course. The Founding Fathers provided the original guidebook, and I still haven’t learned to look past it completely. The similarity to the verbal abuse served up in middle school cafeterias is astonishing. Middle school. Gah! I can’t think of a time in my own or my kids’ lives that I want to revisit any less, yet here we are doing it adult-style.

Surprisingly, it’s not the idiotic barbs that get to me most. “Nasty, low-IQ, crooked…” What a bunch of nonsense! What irks me more is that the men mouthing off do it in the context of an opponent’s femaleness. These intrepid leaders, despite all their accomplishments and all the barriers they’ve overcome to get where they are, aren’t just politicians, they’re women politicians. They’re women politicians who are crazy. Or they’re women politicians who are incapable. Or they’re women politicians who are attractive and therefore deserve to be manhandled.

Maybe you’ve heard about the “childless cat ladies,” a remark made three years ago by a current political candidate through which he asserted that leaders without children have less stake in the future of the country than those with families. The comment screams gender bias. (Hello? Notice how he specifically targets ladies?) It also suggests that a woman’s purpose is primarily reproductive. I think my Roe v. Wade wound is bleeding again.

Recently, I read essays from women not too different in age from me who recounted stories related to sexual assault. As in my own case, one was lucky that the guy took “NO!” for an answer. The other was not.

This is how it goes for all women everywhere, some of us realizing how close we came to disaster, others walking away horrified, humiliated, and forever changed.

This is why my frustration—or more honestly, my anger—resurfaces time and again. Women are tired of having our lives controlled by people who don’t live them. We’re tired of trying to explain to doctors that our pain is real, tired of fighting our employers for equitable pay, tired of being extra alert in the parking garage, at the club, on the trail, in our homes, tired of having to work harder to prove our worth to ourselves and others.

Everywhere I look, I see men in charge, and also a lot of destruction and corruption in their wake. Yet somehow it’s implied that women don’t have the chops to lead. What is it, exactly, that we’re likely to ruin when we finally get the power we deserve? From where we sit, the system looks like it could only benefit from our help.

I know I’m preaching to the choir here, and I know you understand. Which brings me back to those exceptions I mentioned early on. Thanks for your patience. See, I’m capable of keeping some promises!

Before you drag me off my soapbox by the ankles, please know that I know women are also full of imperfections. There are women who name-call and stereotype, women who act like asses. There are misguided women, arrogant women, violent women. And yes, of course, there are men of deep integrity and humility, men who know how to be respectful and collaborative, men who make good partners. I live with one.

This is where you come in again, Joy, because right around the time I was stewing in all of this, I came across a story to remind me that all is not lost. Here’s a guy who has looked genuine darkness in the face, and who is still out there thinking, reaching, making the effort to improve things, noticing where help is needed, knowing when to step back and when to step up. If I can stumble over an example like that in my most cynical moments, I have to believe there are hundreds, thousands, maybe millions of others out there who are similar.

Joy!

He brought me back to you, and I can’t tell you how much I needed that.

I’m sure you’re as busy as ever, but I do have a small favor to ask: could you send a little boost his way? An unsolicited compliment, maybe, or just a day that feels unusually open and full of possibility, the kind that reminds a person how singular and worthwhile they are. I think it would be a good investment on your part, and I think he’s earned it.

I’ll wrap up with one final observation, something I’ve noticed in just the last week or so. I’m hearing your name everywhere! I don’t know how you manage to move in so many directions at once, but I see you out there, and I’m grateful. We all are!

Take care of yourself, Joy. I don’t know what I’d do without you. I look forward to hearing from you again soon.

With love,
Elizabeth

Caught in the wild, en route home. Dad thought only one of them was coming. Joy was definitely along for the ride.

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These are the pieces I was carrying when I wrote this letter. I think they're worth your time.

Eileen: I wanted to scream but I didn’t. I didn’t get how he could be turned on by a drunken, disheveled fifteen year old, but I suppose he assumed I came there to have sex with anyone who was interested. I didn’t, but I thought it was my punishment for being somewhere I wasn’t supposed to be.

Quest To Be Cool

Prue: ‘Excuse me,’ she said, her heart pounding, ‘but how did you get in?’

He held up a master key, his handsome face broken by dazzling white teeth.

‘I beg your pardon!’ She could not disguise her horror.

‘You know why I am here?’

Sorrento...

Switter: “...give a little whisper of thanksgiving when you switch on a light, access the internet, enjoy a hot shower, turn on the heating or air conditioner, wear new, clean clothes, travel anywhere in the world by plane, train, automobile, ship, bicycle, or foot, eat food only kings enjoyed in past generations, sleep in comfort, and live without constant threat or fear. But most of all, do not keep your privilege to yourself. Share it freely and without expectations of repayment.

If You Are Reading This. . .

There’s a lot going on, much of it so disheartening. How is joy showing up for you these days? Is there someone who seems to know just what you need when you need it? I’d love to hear about that in the comments. Or if something in this letter stirred up your own grievances, those are welcome too.

If this essay found you at the right moment, passing it along might do the same for someone else. A heart 💚 or a restack ♻️ helps more people find their way here. Much as I don’t love algorithms, I do love the idea that this essay might bring just the right kind of support to a friend I’ve never had the chance to meet.

I show up here week after week because you matter to me, and because you show up, free or paid. If today’s the day you become a paid subscriber (only about $1 per essay) or offer a one-time tip (any amount is appreciated), I’d be honored. Every bit of support keeps this space going and means more than you might realize. I’m grateful for you, always.

See you soon.