TRIBESWOMEN
I don’t remember the first time I heard the term “tribe” to mean a group of women who supported, encouraged, and celebrated each other, but I knew instantly I wanted one. Actually, I had been a part of small and large tribes over the years, before we knew we were a “tribe”. But for one reason or another, they were fleeting or had fizzled or at worse, they had exploded. When a friend asked me if I would be interested in joining her with two other women who met online every Wednesday for “mid-week mimosas”, I couldn’t say yes fast enough. COVID circumstances obviously made meeting online more appropriate. We each sat in front of our respective computer screens, one in work clothes, two in sweatpants, one in pajamas. No one had a mimosa in hand that first morning, but only because there were plans for work or with children or a treadmill, that dampened the idea of day drinking. Over the next few weeks I discovered that we weren’t tied to any specific beverage really, be it coffee with bailey or double espresso, no one seemed to care. It was about more than the drink in hand.
There were obvious similarities between the four of us; we were all women, all of us were or had in the recent past worked at a university in one capacity or another. But really that’s where it ended. Our ages spanned 25 years. Being the last invited and the oldest, I nearly begged off. My plan was that I would go to the friend who invited me, perhaps via email, pull her gently into a confidentially, and ask if the others really wanted me playing catch-up with the group. And, what about me being old enough to mom them both? I was certain they had already planned to exiled me, via email, maybe even Instagram. (I still haven’t mastered that one.) But, just before I hit Enter, I recognized the knots of adolescence tied around my throat, those that had silenced even the loudest parts of me too many years ago, (now crowded by a dying thyroid). And then, the sweat, that may or may not have been the end of a hot flash, but as familiar as the churn in my stomach when my prom date went MIA after the first slow dance. How very teenybopper of me, I thought. ‘Now, pinch those discounted, tummy-tucker panties out of your ass and remember, you’re a damn delight most days!’ I decided I would wait it out, see how the conversations unfolded, watch for the stink eye across the cafeteria, now the Zoom screen. But, I wouldn’t assume it was inevitable.
That was nearly a year ago. Some of this tribe was reminiscent of past tribes, we’ve had partners, pets and parents come and go and sometimes again and again. But, these Tribeswomen are all much more politically minded than I was at their age, not only because it’s a necessity and responsibility for all smart women, but also because they prioritize politics. They make phone calls, they leave flyers, they work the polls. One of them even had a notable run for House Representative. They know that their daughters or sons if they choose to welcome them, along with my grandchildren, are counting on us now. Like many groups of friends, The Tribe has also given me the opportunity to share my gut, my core, the real, REAL me under this desert skin. I can ask them questions that would make my own children not only blush but cringe and perhaps even vomit (like what exactly is the appeal of a thong? And doesn’t it eventually hurt?). And after decades of counseling students, I now get the big questions. They ask me the questions and not for their own personal gain, but to make me step back. Take a moment. Perhaps, reassess seemingly right decisions I’m making for the wrong reasons. Recently, the youngest member admitted to asking me questions that she compared my answers to her mother’s. We’re one for one. And, I’m okay with that. Maybe she too has a tribe of younger women.
Still, I haven’t caught a stink-eye. But occasionally, there will be “the look” when one of us plays too boujee for boxed wine or loses our good sense in ex-man chaos, or forgets that work woes can’t define us unless we approve it. That look brings us all back together.
The three of them recently drove across three states to visit me in my new home. For three days, we drank cheap wine and pricey bourbon. We talked politics, COVID, new jobs, old bosses, sex toys and Bumble. We laughed and we sang. We sang the songs of Tribeswomen supportive, encouraging, and celebrated.
