I just now heard about this death. This one's a little different, because this is someone I actually knew. Not well. We had exactly one conversation. But it was truly one of the most important conversations of my life, one that I talk about often and that I think about even more often. It was a turning point and I'm so sad that I never got the chance to let her know.
One of the rites of passage that grad students go through, if their lucky, is a practice interview. My alma mater sponsored an evening of mock interviews, in hopes of preparing us to face the (admittedly grim--and only getting grimmer) job market. One of my practice interviews was with her, someone who I had never met before (she taught in a different department.) And it went all right. She asked me some questions about my research, smart questions that forced me to define my terms. And when it was over, she told me she thought I had done fine. That was great. I needed to hear that. It was in the midst of one of the hardest times of my life. Because at that point, I was failing at the job market. I sent out many, many applications, into the dark silent void, with no sense of what I was doing, or what I was doing wrong. And it was demoralizing--I felt I was failing at work, which was something I'd never failed at before. I had no idea who I was, if I was someone who wasn't able to work.
But then she said something that I needed to hear even more. She told me, in the most gentle terms, what I was doing wrong. She took a long pause before she said it, thinking carefully about how to say what she wanted to say. And then, in the kindest way, told me to stop being such a fucking girl. Of course, what she really said was something like "I've noticed that sometimes women, especially younger women, have tendency to apologize or undermine their research. Don't. do. that." And something about the way she said, about who she was and her thoughtfulness, I was able to hear it, really hear it.
I was raised by a woman who interjected feminist commentary at every passover seder. Who put a "Ms."magazine t-shirt on my teddy bear before I could read. She shouted down anti-abortion protestors on a regular basis. They called me "feminazi" in high school (that was a thing in the early 90s). I had the bona fides. But still, there I was apologizing... for what? For my ideas? For articulating them? For answering a question I had been asked? I had every reason in the world to know better, but it took someone not too much older than myself, with a quiet confidence and clarity, who had never met me before in my life, to call me out on that.
I feel so grateful to this person I barely met. I have thought of her in the last few years--often when I catch myself apologizing for expressing an idea or describing an accomplishment. But I also think of her when I encourage a student. When I talk about institutionalized sexism in a class. I try every hard to be a good mentor and I've been lucky enough to be given some great role models in my life. But in some ways, the 20 minutes I spent with her were as important as relationships that developed over years.
Her shockingly early death is a great loss. Nothing that lessen that. But I will honor her words by being the best mentor I can, to give her credit for the way she affected me, to use her name when I tell that story.
