Sacred Space: Gloria's house
January 8, 2017 - Upper West Side, New York City
A gathering of visionaries, committed feminists, talented artists, tenacious entrepreneurs, women, friends. We laughed, shared stories, listened, debated, encouraged, questioned, advised.
This coven of women (+1 guest) came together, in the midst of a Sunday night NYC blizzard, each and all of us held with love in the sacred space that had hosted countless groups of women over the decades. I couldn’t even begin to imagine the scope of some of the women who’d come before us.
I remember how we all shared our hopes for what we’d find and accomplish in a year’s time. I remember the clarity of those conversations, the relief at being with people whose language I shared. I remember taking a phone call from a very disrespectful boyfriend, and the sad yet understanding look from the women who knew exactly what I was going through — and that they knew that I knew better. I remember sitting next to an especially incredible friend from across the river in New Jersey, telling her how I was struggling with being 40 and trying to understand how I’d be able to have a family, if that’s even what I wanted — and I remember her, a mother of two, looking me right in the eye and saying, “Lisa… don’t do it. It’s not worth it.” Words I hung on to for comfort over the years, whenever I wondered why it hadn’t happened for me — and remembered that there was also value in the path that I was on.
I remember walking to the back of that massive brownstone, past the incredible collection of books and artwork that was no doubt largely created by friends, acquaintances, and fans of the homeowner.
In the bathroom, a normal bathroom with regular things like medication bottles and a mirror staring back at me… I paused when I noticed the hand towel with lovely little hand-stitching on it, pretty flowers and the name of the person whose house it was, spelled out in sweet little letters:
Gloria
And I remember that when I finally said goodbye and walked out the door and turned the corner onto Fifth Avenue on that silent, snowy Sunday night — there was only empty street and sidewalks stretching ahead of me. Not a soul nor a cab in sight. I made my way toward downtown, walking alone in the middle of the snowy street in the middle of the night, hearing only my every footstep in the snow for the longest time, feeling grateful for the moment, marveling at the intense beauty of it all.
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Thank you, Ms. Steinem, for living the life you have. For lending your brilliance, talent, and tireless work to the world. For paving the way for many women just like me, and the others out in the living room, and the generations that will follow us. Thank you for the gift of your home on this unforgettable night.
And thank you also: Carly, Chelo, Kate, Leah, Jen, Liz, and the rest of you. I’ll never forget our time together, as long as I live. One day soon that little notebook will resurface, and I’ll share with you the resolutions that we made that night. If only we could all get back together back in that warm space to do it. I am now and forever wishing all you wonderful women the best.
