Study and difference

This woman--wouldn't you want to be in her class?
The older I get, the more I realize my mother was right about everything. And by everything, I mean her unwavering second wave feminist beliefs. She put a Ms. magazine t-shirt on my (male) teddy bear. She got into screaming fights with anti-abortionists. I short, she was generally intolerant of stupidity--I can't think of a more appealing definition of feminism.
But I couldn't understand all of this until I was solidly in my thirties, with a few worthwhile things to call my own (a real-deal career, a decent husband, a little respect). Sure, I had been a good lefty soldier since I could shout, but it was when I finally had some of the things I had worked for that I started to understand that someone might try to undermine them for reasons having to do with my identity. I mean, I would have told you I understood that all along, but something about being in the fourth decade makes it all real. I'd love to grab a few 20-year-olds and tell them something about what I see now. But I'm no so far past that age myself that I can't predict how deeply uninterested they would be.
All that said, I hesitate to join that endless ongoing conversation about women "having it all," for all the reasons one might imagine, and also because I am a feminist (see definition above.) And what I like about this obit for Susan Nolen is that she seemed to do something about these issues (if you consider research doing, and oh, I do). She studied them. She looked for the hard data. She drew her conclusions from that. She identified an epidemic of "over-thinking." And she made that her life's work. I haven't read her book, truth be told. Maybe I wouldn't like it. But I appreciate that she noticed the different mental health issues that men and women face and looked at that difference. Me, I traffic in abstracts and clever anecdotes, and they have their place. But sometimes, you just want a scientist to give you some perspective.

Extraordinary/ordinary Klemens von Klemperer

This is not an obituary that I would have thought, at first look, would have had such an impact on me. The life in question is, obviously, extraordinary. And of course, I love to hear about anyone who turned an academic career into a tool of social justice. The idea that knowledge and a relentless pursuit of truth might be a kind of heroism, even when the hero in question lives in an ivory tower (I hate that term), is very moving to me. But what I love the most about this obit of Klemens von Klemperer, besides his undoubtedly amazing name, is this line: “I was not an extraordinary person, but I did live in extraordinary times,” he wrote, “and my small mission was somehow to make sense of it all.” The idea that the responsibility to "make sense" of the world around you might be, in and of itself, an extraordinary act, is inspiring. 

The nun who taught me about gynecological health

I can't stop thinking about this obituary. What I love so much about Midge Turk Richardson is the fact that her life took such drastic turns, and they were all of her own choosing. She was a child actor who gave it up to become a novice. She spent 18 years as a nun, a career which she saw largely in terms of service, only to leave at the age of 36, and move to New York with one suitcase. Somehow, less than 20 years after that she managed to become the editor in chief of Seventeen magazine, and moved the magazine towards discussing more serious topics. I would almost be willing to bet cash money that the first issue of Seventeen that I ever purchased was the one above, in 1990, firmly in the middle of Richardson's tenure as editor. I was 13, undoubtedly "so fresh," and in need of some guidebook for adolescence, which was taking its sweet time arriving. Look, I'm a card-carrying member of the Sassy generation, but I'd be lying if I didn't say that Seventeen was my gateway drug. I feel so much better knowing that I was ushered into puberty by a social-justice-minded former nun who was committed to making sure I had the facts about sexually transmitted disease.
It's inspiring to read about people who lived lives that were tempest-tossed--subject to dramatic historical and personal dramas that were beyond their control. It's comforting to read how they dealt with misfortune and challenge with strength and grace. But I also love reading about people who made their own drama, who were willing to uproot themselves and take big chances and live several lives in one lifetime, simply because they were interested in different things and followed their passions.