A Time for Trouble

On being a woman's woman.

Growing up in suburban New Jersey in the 1990s, it was considered cool to be a “guy’s girl.” This distinction had less to do with a love of sports or beer or tired gender stereotypes than it did with the myths it purported to avoid.

Women were catty, the story went. A competitive bunch, harboring rivalries and slinging cruelties like something out of Mean Girls. Above all, women were complicated — this word always said with the same facial expression one would make while cleaning a litter box in a tiny, unventilated space.

By some miracle, I wound up at a women’s college. I entered Barnard in the fall of 2002, under the guise of becoming intellectually well-rounded or gainfully employable. What I hadn’t expected was that it might offer something more powerful: The setting in which to become my own person.

Academia aside, I walked away with three big takeaways.

The first was that women are fucking awesome. No two ways about it. Brilliant, creative, resourceful. Strong, in every sense of the word. Layered, nuanced, capable — and yes, complicated. Which, it turns out, is a very good thing.

The second lesson was that competition — in general, and certainly among other women — is short-sighted. Anything I’d been sold about rivalries had clearly come from some lesser plot-line I had no interest playing a part in.

As a concept, competition isn’t all bad. It can be motivating, pushing us to do better. Like envy, when you notice it creeping onto the scene, it can help point the way toward what brings you alive. It can also be divisive and destructive, hindering connection and distracting from the greater good.

Would it be cool to become the first or best or highest paid woman to fill-in-the-blank? Of course. But if someone else gets it, good for her. The goal is progress — for all women, collective and intersectional — and progress has no place for ego.

The third big takeaway was the confirmation of something I’d always suspected: that much of the world — beyond the college gates, beyond city lines, beyond state borders — hated women.

Even at an institution operating under the banner of empowerment, it was implicit and insidious. (Barnard shares a complicated affiliation with Columbia University, where students were often the subject of offensive jokes, pranks, and attitudes — about our bodies, our sexuality, our intelligence…)

The silver lining was a discovery that would serve me throughout my life, which is that the awful things in this world are easier to stomach when you’re in the company of people who commiserate. The most beautiful mirrors are not those made of glass, but other faces that see you clearly.

I have love for everyone, no matter who you are, where you were born, what you believe, or who you love. But make no mistake, I am a woman’s woman.

Graduation was a blur. I had no idea where I was headed or what came next. Our commencement speaker was the writer and literary critic Francine du Plessix Gray. I wish I could tell you that I remember her speech in crystalline detail, but it was swallowed by my panic. I do recall the ending, the way she raised her fist in the air and shouted “Give ‘em hell!” her voice reverberating through the speakers to land on some 500 startled faces.

This past Friday, as the decision to overturn Roe was announced and my synapses struggled to establish their next move, my mind landed there, on a crowded campus sixteen years ago. Somehow, my memory knew that the words I didn’t absorb back then were exactly the ones I was grasping for.

Her message — spoken in 2006 — feels ever more urgent today.

“You have to give hell to entrenched power when it violates our notions of human justice. So my final message to you is this: Whether it be on the issue of racial integration or gay rights or sexual equality or the pathetic state of health care in this country… your motto should be ‘Give ‘em hell, give ‘em hell, give ‘em hell!’ There are never enough troublemakers fighting for justice. So go out there and give ‘em hell to create a better world for you and your children to grow into.”

As far as I see it, there are two options. The first is to give ‘em hell. The second is to be served it. I don’t know about you, but I’ve just about had my fill of hell lately. So count me firmly in group one.

As a human, I am offended when anyone stands in the way of my (or anyone else’s) autonomy. As a spiritual being, I am offended when anyone attempts to tell me about my relationship to God and the role it plays in my life. Unless you are God — in which case, wow I have some questions — you cannot know the shape, depth, or power of my faith, nor anyone else’s. That’s a place no one has any business treading.

And it’s not the only one.

If you read the entire Dobbs opinion — it’s an eyeful — you eventually stumble across this paragraph:

“Our decision… allows women on both sides of the abortion issue to seek to affect the legislative process by influencing public opinion, lobbying legislators, voting, and running for office. Women are not without electoral or political power. It is noteworthy that the percentage of women who register to vote and cast ballots is consistently higher than the percentage of men who do so.”

I’m tired, so I’ll say it plain: That sounds like a load of horse shit. It also sounds like a challenge.

Now that I think about it, I learned four big things during my time at school.

The final point was that laws are manmade devisings, like language or books or recipes. Like history — both as it is lived and as it is recorded. Rules are as fallible as the humans who make them, and as such, they are meant to be pushed, meant to be tested, meant to be broken.

There are many ways to do this.

To quote Arundhati Roy:

“Our strategy should be not only to confront Empire, but to lay siege to it. To deprive it of oxygen. To shame it. To mock it. With our art, our music, our literature, our stubbornness, our joy, our brilliance, our sheer relentlessness — and our ability to tell our own stories… Remember this: We be many and they be few. Another world is not only possible, she is on her way. On a quiet day, I can hear her breathing.”

Card of the Week

Here is this week’s card for the collective, as well as some thoughts to carry into the days ahead. As most modern readers will tell you, the tarot is not about fortunetelling, nor is it about neat, definitive answers. The cards are simply one path to reflection, a way of better knowing ourselves and others through universal themes. If this reading resonates with you, great! And if not, no worries. Take whatever may be helpful and leave the rest.

Featuring the Tarot by Caro by Quiero Caro.

Last week, I was crossing the street — in a crosswalk, with the walk signal — when a car came tearing around the corner and nearly barreled into me. I jumped out of the way, its bumper missing me by inches.

I stood on the sidewalk in shock, my body shaky and trembling with adrenaline. Around me, in typical Manhattan fashion, everyone went about their business. Either no one saw what had just transpired, or no one cared. I didn’t know which was worse.

A couple blocks later, a voice called out, “Are you okay?” I turned to see a man with a concerned face. “That car almost hit you! It wasn’t going to stop!”

“Thank you!” I said. “I was starting to worry I’d imagined it.”

“I can’t believe no one did anything! I’m just so glad you’re okay.”

I thanked him for his kindness and we went our separate ways. It was only then that I started to cry.

The Four of Wands understands the power of a witness.

It is sometimes referred to as the “wedding card,” as it often depicts two people in celebration, their hands raised triumphantly overhead. It foretells gatherings and unions of all sorts, but whether we’re speaking of a parade, a picnic, or a protest, the message is the same:

Togetherness is a powerful thing.

In many ways, we are stronger together. We are often more joyful, too.

Yes, the big life moments are infused with meaning when they are shared. But so are the smaller ones. Sometimes, it’s nice to have another human simply bear witness to your being (and vice versa).

This card would like to remind us that togetherness does not have to mean some official gathering. You can usher in this energy simply by picking up the phone. Or making casual, spontaneous plans. Or going to sit and people watch in a park or a café, absorbing a sense of community.

Wands are the suit of fire, often speaking to passion and action, while the number four is a symbol of stability. As such, this card speaks to those places where we find connection, camaraderie, and support. Where people come together, united by a shared cause or interest, and their experience is amplified.

One of the more curious things about life is the way each person’s experience is like a movie that only they can see. The angles, the lighting, the inevitable blind spots — it’s all unique to you. That is a beautiful thing, but it can also be lonely.

If you’re having trouble seeing a situation clearly, it can be helpful to recruit a trusted person to offer their perspective. This is true if you don’t know where you’re going — or if you doubt how far you’ve come.

Narcissus gazed into a pool of water and became enamored with his own reflection. Our task is to find a wider, more objective view. (Although in a society that runs by convincing us that we can always improve, I think beholding a reflective surface with love and acceptance is a powerful move, but that’s a message for another day.) Often times, other people are the mirrors that can afford us another, rounder glimpse of our world.

In the days ahead, the Four of Wands suggests that you find yourself some human mirrors. (Animals are okay, too.) You don’t have to meet in person, although you certainly could. What matters is a sense of connection. The knowledge that you are not alone. An acknowledgement that you are here, you are seen, you are heard.

Those are among the most powerful things on offer. Not to mention the very best gifts we can give.

First, we must trust that we are counted. Then, we make it count.

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