I had a step-mother once.
She was in my life for a short time, but unlike the typical step-mother trope of wickedness and dark features, when I think back to her I think of pastels. Her house had the soft color scheme of the 80s and feminine, southern touches like wooden ducks lining the hearth and wicker furniture with ruffled pillows. There’s a picture of me at the fireplace holding her little Pomeranian. For a long time, I thought Pomeranians were my favorite dog breed.
She was a nurse, care-taker by profession, and it shined through with how she made my lunch before leaving for work, signed me up for summer camps, and coordinated playdates in the neighborhood with same-aged girls. I remember her being pregnant and then a vague memory of riding around in the backseat with my baby half-sister. I was trying to teach her how to call me ‘sissy’ and for a brief moment, I was successful.
Too brief.
By the next summer, I would never see her again..or my baby sisters.
It is all a snapshot of my life…the brick fireplace, the summer camp talent show when we sang The Beach Boys, the ham & cheese on soft white bread. The feeling of being cared for, for being in the presence of someone who considered me. Maybe at 9-years-old, I had a small, hopeful view of who she was, but for a time this person came into my life, left her mark, and then left for good.
There was one day, I remember being in her home, sun coming through the back sliding glass doors. I was sat on the floor nearby looking through a stack of books. I must have been with her that day, but I don’t remember where she was…the kitchen, the bedroom, the bathroom? In the memory, I am alone with the television humming in the background. Everything soft and quiet. I pulled a large hardback book from the pile and let it flip open to a page of its choosing. And like the book knew my fate, it revealed a theme of my life right before my eyes.
I had picked my step-mother’s book on pregnancy, and being a nurse, this book came with detailed diagrams and photos of what happens to the female body as it grows and births a baby. This was my introduction to the question ‘where do babies come from’ I guess. I can’t remember if I was ever explained how babies developed before. I probably had some sort of ideas swirling around but no definitive facts like the ones illustrated in this book right before my wide-eyes.
After a moment of processing everything I was seeing, I remember closing the book like I was peering into an adult world I was not meant to know yet. Most likely at the reaction of hearing my step-mother’s footsteps, I discarded the pregnancy book for another more age-appropriate option. But the images, just like the pale pinks and warm sunlight playing on the carpet under me, stayed with me forever.
When I think back to what would be the start of my fascination with women, to all the things women are capable of creating, to the influences and impressions women can leave onto each other, I am right back on that floor holding a book flipped open to the most interesting, most beautiful, most surreal thing I had ever seen in my little life with my step-mother nearby.
I had a fairy step-mother once.
A friend started her own business once.
I had heard that another mom at my daughters’ school was starting to do manicures out of her home. I have a love/hate relationship with traditional nail salons. I find them overstimulating, and as much as I love the look of being polished, I get impatient sitting through the process. Being in a home, one-on-one with another woman, sounded much more appealing. Plus I always have an affinity for women trying new things, putting themselves out there in some way. I made an appointment with her.
When I walked into her home, she had set-up a cute table, two chairs on either side, with little feminine touches around the room right off her foyer. It was cozy and inviting. I was initially worried about awkwardness of having a service done by essentially a friend, but as our conversation started rolling, those thoughts disappeared. I cannot remember all we spoke about. There is a vague memory of discussing how we both wanted to do something in our lives, both wanted to have something of our own. When I think back to that day, I see the light of the room, feel the ease of being together, how in being away from the politics of the schoolyard, we found commonalities and an unexpected understanding of each other.
With my nails freshly pink, we continued to chat by the doorway. I noticed her touches of decor and she offered for me to peek into her living room and kitchen. Always one to say yes to a tour, I remember being impressed with her sense of style. It may be one of my favorite life surprises when I find someone with a matched curiosity of interior design…another soul out there that sees the world in similar ways.
What I cannot remember is how many times we were together like this. How many times did I go to her pop-up nail shop and have these conversations? She did not keep the business going for very long. In my mind, it seems I visited many times and it also feels like it only happened once and maybe once was all we needed.
Towards the end of the tour, knowing I collected little mementos of Queen Elizabeth II, she gifted me a small coronation mug. A mug that still sits on my make-up vanity to this day. Had someone told me of this day second-hand, I would maybe question the gift. I had come to support her, not the other way around. But having experienced it, been in the conversation, shared a common truth and an uncommon eye for the influence of your environment, it made perfect sense. It made perfect sense to mark the day with a touchpoint. A souvenir of a day when two women crossed each other’s path and that was exactly what each one needed for that moment in time. No more, no less.
And when I hold the little mug filled with tweezers, nail clippers, and lipgloss, I sometimes reflect back to that day. Sitting across from each other, seeing the light come through the curtains, as we knocked down assumed perspectives of what we thought we knew of each other, replacing them with a true exchange of who we were...two women sharing a small moment in time.
I was given a gift once.
I met Oprah once.
In what could be its own essay, I was given the opportunity to go back-stage for a V.I.P meet and greet of the ‘Your Life in Focus’ tour. Having previously met a lovely woman that worked in media and kept up with her, we ended up in the same city, for the same event, for the same reason: to be in the presence of the influence that is Oprah Winfrey.
I was not meant to be there. I felt very out of my element. I was surrounded by celebrities and their entourages. Gayle, Oprah’s best friend, meandered through the crowd. There were appetizers, free drinks, and some people walked around with a swag bag. A small group of us stood in conversation with collective anticipation of what was going to happen next. A rumor circulated that Oprah would step out soon to say a few words and then there would be an opportunity to take a picture with her before a step and repeat. That’s when I noticed the small platform a few feet away, a make-shift stage perfect for someone to stand on to oversee the whole crowd.
I realized I was going to be steps away from Oprah herself.
When she emerged from some back-back-stage area, she was every bit of the cliché: she was larger than life. I am not sure I can properly describe the expansive aura she carried with her, nor how the feeling of that moment has taken up residence within me.
Her speech was somewhat to be expected; encouraging words of all we had learned and heard from the day, of how you have to step into your life fully, to find what you want to do, to believe you can do it above all doubts. I listened intently, still on a high of the day surrounded by 18,000 other (mostly) women. Every word was an opportunity for inspiration and a new perspective that could maybe shift how I looked at my life forever.
And then…just like the light that shined through my step-mother’s house and the light coming through the window while I sat with my hands held by a friend, another light found me. Standing mere steps away away from a woman I admired watched after-school since childhood, she looked directly at me, pointed her finger towards me, and said “The WORLD is waiting on YOU.”
It took my breath away. It takes my breath away to think about, still.
I would have thought I hallucinated it all had it not been for my lovely friend, the whole reason I was smuggled backstage into this moment, turning to me with wide-eyed astonishment, mouthing “oh my god! she was talking to you!”
After she spoke, I stood in line to have my picture taken with her. I was so embarrassingly nervous. I have experienced the phenomenon of being ‘star-struck’ twice, once in this moment with Oprah and another with Queen Elizabeth II, a tale for another day. In both times I was left unfamiliarly speechless. The snapshot of Oprah and I from that day shows how elated and overwhelmed I was to be beside this woman.
And when I think back, to the connections that had to align for me to be right next to that platform amongst what felt like more V.I.P than me, I can feel the bright light of a woman standing fully in her purpose, turning and pointing directly at me. It is as if she sensed the little girl sitting on her step-mother’s floor mesmerized by what she was seeing; as if she knew understood how women have an innate need to connect over common experiences; as if she had overheard every thought, every interest, every fascination I ever had, and for a moment she reflected my importance in this world all back to me.
I was a Very Important Person once.
I hold all these memories like a mental photo album.
I am forever fascinated by the intersections of times when I was impacted by another woman. Some moments were over as soon as they began, there were women that left my life as soon as they entered, and yet each one of their influences stay with me, they became a part of me. The care of these women, their gifts, and their words, helped me to meet parts of myself I had not known before.
And even though Oprah’s booming voice echoes in my head when I doubt myself, or when I need a little boost in confidence, I have come to understand that “the world is waiting on you” does not necessarily mean there is a huge responsibility that I personally carry to affect the whole of the world. Maybe I’ll leave that to her. But instead, it is in how I choose to show up for others, how at any given moment I can affect another woman in a way that they could then hold within themselves for a lifetime. As some women have done for me.
I came across a Hemingway quote recently,
“Don’t ever kid yourself about loving someone. It is just that most people are not lucky enough ever to have it. What you have…whether it lasts just though today and a part of tomorrow, or whether it lasts for a long life is the most important thing that can happen to a human being.”
If I were to be so bold as to modify Hemingway’s words, I would be sure to note that love does not have to mean romantic love. Love can be in the care of a packed lunch, in a thoughtful gift exchanged, in a shared spotlight. In my life, I have often found love in the small gestures of other women. And like well-worn photographs, I have memories I can pull from as proof that for a few shining moments, at various times in my life, I have been safely and phenomenally held in the light of another woman…
That I have been lucky… way more than once.
~SB
