October 5, 2023
Did I hear her correctly? Did she say what I thought she said?
“When I’m walking down the street, everyone is attracted to me. Sitting right here, everyone here is attracted to me. What would I do, being more attractive?”
Barbara Corcoran’s response to a Shark Tank pitch for a pheromone-based hair care product stunned me. Her glowing bravado hung through the air like electrified heating coils. I found myself mulling over the rhetoric but I was not sure why.
Admittedly I can be rather slow in my wit and especially so in conversations. And if I am tired or sick, I am barely coherent with my speech. In such situations I usually remain silent.
The product pitch on the show was a bit of a throwback to viewpoints on sexuality which were outdated and well, rather offensive. I am all for relationships and attractiveness and people coming together, but the product represented an outdated pandering of sexuality. Those ideals caused no nostalgia. Such a throwback needed a persona. Without such, it lacked thought or depth of human existence. True we do all have animalistic traits but are we not human for a reason?
That’s another discussion. No one on the sharks’ panel disrespected the presenters of the product. But Corcoran’s response hit the mark with savvy. In that denial of her participation with the product, the preface to the concluding “for that reason, I’m out,” she drew a remarkable line. Within me, I just smiled at her lack of compromise and her calm definition.
That episode I believe was a rerun which I stumbled upon in my early morning recovery from working overnights. In my first day off rotation, I typically spend most of the twenty- four hours sleeping or in a zombielike mode of television watching. My customary picks are South Park or 1970’s sitcoms. Once in awhile I will catch an old movie on TCM or Shark Tank episodes.
Then I dive into news. It’s like I cannot get enough of events and news stories.
Back in August, I remember the news report on Senator Feinstein. At the time, the ninety year old senator had fallen. I had been amazed that she still held office. Watching her on television was like catching up with a piece of the past. Although I had forgotten her presence throughout the years, the sight of her on television brought me back decades.
Decades ago I remember being proud as she was elected into office. As an undergraduate, I remembered her as mayor of San Francisco. The city had been rocked with the assassinations of the mayor and city supervisor. Feinstein became San Francisco’s first female mayor. Her activism had been inspirational. Later on, she would be elected as California’s first female US senator.
But my life carried on and I forgot about politics and those type of ideals. Filled with responsibilities and wonderful family concerns – none of which were politically natured- decades of my life passed.
On that August morning, the news report showed her recovering from the fall, returning to her chambers and resuming her duties. At ninety years of age, the news report concluded, she would not be seeking re-election in next year’s election.
At ninety years old…
On September 29, 2023, Senator Diane Feinstein passed away. May she rest in peace.
Former Speaker of the House, Nancy Pelosi is eighty-two years old. Jane Fonda is eighty-five. The aforementioned Barbara Corcoran is seventy-four. Betty White was ninety-nine when she passed away. Tina Turner? 83.
My wonderful mother is eighty-eight years strong.
And these are just the famous women who have “aged”. What about the wonderful women who privately believed in their beliefs and lived their lives? What about my lovely neighbor Verna who believes in her community and helps me water plants? Year after year I feel her prayers that I succeed in life. She is well into her nineties with a spirit which glows with a Godgiven woman’s fire.
Famous or not, right or wrong, agreeable or not, these women form a breathing goalpost for me in my late middle years. In two years’ time, I will achieve sixty years of life.
I love every thought of it.
In recent conversation, I tried to explain my fascination with my new heroes. The male person to which I was explaining thought perhaps it was the power of these women.
Hmm. I suppose.
Many years have passed since I looked to others as heroes or as some grandiose notion of inspiration. Maybe I was being too much of a snob? I looked to myself for confidence-building and growth. I was not looking to worship another human being nor did I recognize any need to seek the guidance of older women.
But that changes. Sixty years soon? Me? I never thought I would reach forty and here I am knocking on six-zero’s door. Looking forward with my age, to see both the end and possibilities, to see paths of vibrancy and humor, and a sense of womanhood and individuality and community, who would not be in awe?
Bliss. Somehow looking at these women’s lives made my shoulders relax. Yes, some were married and some never had been. Some had had partners and others not. Some had travelled their whole lives solo.
Power? I suppose. Oh, but the grace they all possessed. And the intellect and the wisdom.
And, their honesty. Their trust.
I used to tell my mathematics students that I would panic each time I began a new problem. No matter the degree of difficulty nor the subject, my brain would panic. It was a response similar to that of my approach to anything really. My initial reaction always had been an intense, paralyzing fear of failure.
“It passes,” I had advised my students. “A person just has to wait five seconds, then it’s gone. Then you can think, analyze and solve.”
Now surely everyone’s brain is as individual as the celebrated snowflake, but I think we forget how to train our students. In my sharing, I had volunteered how I needed to self-manage. The realization had taken a lifetime to understand and own. Why would I not risk the vulnerability to my students?
“Wait. Pause. Let the problem sink in.”
In that same conversation about power, my male-identifying friend starting talking percentages. (Actually we engaged about the inflation rate). His mannerisms are such that a discussion of economics bleeds into almost a warfare on politics.
(And he is very good at it too).
But I turned to him, walking through percentages which compound through a succession of years. The discussion continued as others chimed in, but my mind distanced.
“This was different,” I reflected. For the first time my initial reaction was not one of panic. I was not frightened. No fear. In fact, I felt nothing. No emotion. My body did not brace itself even slightly. My head did not lock up. I kept talking until I finished. Nothing more. Nothing less.
I could verbalize.
It’s a silly realization and must sound incredibly foolish. But I attribute the nuance of change to my age. My age. My lovely age that I have no choice but to accept.
I feel as though I now travel with a quality I never before had.
Power? I don’t know. I think of it more as choice and discovery.
(And maybe a bit of the grace as shown by those beautiful aged ladies).
Thank you, mom. Thank you Verna, Betty, Diane, Nancy, Grace, Karen, Carol, Isabel, and oh yes, Ruth Bader Ginsburg and Tina…
Much love,
Stephanie
Stephanie Springborn 