On Sexism

I rarely make these sorts of posts here (I think the last one was on same sex marriage) but I have been having thoughts on this subject for a long time, so....

It was fairly recently that I realized that the industry I worked in all my life (and that my mother worked in before me) - the janitorial, clerical, and scheduling aspects of publishing - was a predominately female one. (It is also one that is gradually disappearing, thanks to technology, which is another subject.)

A number of years ago I went to a book group at the Unitarian church that was discussing Cranford. The group was mostly, but not only, women, and was even more predominately made up of people over 50.

The woman leading the group spoke about the poverty of "genteel" older women (she was referring to women a generation older than I - I was born in 1950), many of whom lived in rent regulated apartments on Manhattan's Upper East Side, and many of whom, barely surviving on their Social Security, ate at the church soup kitchen. According to the group leader, most of these women had had jobs in publishing, jobs that paid very little, at organizations that did not provide pensions (now most of them have 401ks, but they didn't then).  What she also said, which resonated with me, was that these jobs were never meant to provide a comfortable salary; they were jobs for "bookish" women as a stopgap between college and marriage, or for wives to work at for "a little bit extra".  So for most of these women the years went by, no husband appeared, and they fell into poverty.

My own situation is not that bad.  First of all, because of my interest in and aptitude for dealing with complex interpersonal situations, I was promoted into management, which pays slightly better.  And the last two companies I worked for provided 401ks, one with a hefty employer contribution.

But what was an eye opener for me was realizing the extent to which my lack of interesting and engaging work stemmed from the attitudes toward women and girls when I was growing up, that were just in the air.

My mother prided herself, above all, on "being an intellectual."  Likewise, her expectation for me was that I would be brainy, well-read, well-educated, and well-informed.  It wasn't until decades later that I saw the importance of the word "be".  Women were about "being", men were about  "doing".  I have noted more and more that one of the highest compliments one can pay a person is to say "she is very very good at what she does."  I don't recall hearing this comment until fairly recently.  People might have said "she is a good doctor" or "an exciting painter" or "a very special kind of teacher", but that was because medicine, teaching, and making art are important things.  Most things that people "do", particularly for a living, are not all that important.  They are a means to a salary, which is used to subsidize what really matters: family, friends, and enjoyable leisure.

I think the ingrained idea of women as doers began with the generation born from 1970 on.  I mean there were plenty of doers in my generation, but it was not the norm, even for intelligent, well-educated women (and in those days "well-educated" meant a liberal arts BA from a good college, nothing more), so it was no source of self-deprecation not to be one.

As I enter the last third of my life, I often feel heartache that I have not done and don't do anything that is interesting (either to do or to talk about), certainly not in New York where superachievers are as numerous as cockroaches.

The other day, I realized that I did what women were supposed to do when I was a young adult.  I chose "being in love".  Today the media are full of articles about the "planned" marriage.  I hear young (and by "young" I mean those people born after 1970) talk about self-actualization in a partnership, parenting, money, sex, but never about "being in love".  It sounds almost quaint, like a mild mental illness that didn't used to be thought of as one, but now is.

When I was 25 I fell in love with someone (who happened to be female) whom I saw as exciting, bold, and slightly dangerous, and who was, of course, much older.  A charming ne'er do well who knew her way around Lesbian Bohemia (and various corners of the visual arts world) and had no time for such bourgeois things as keeping a job or maintaining order in the home.  And she was in love with me.  I was a pretty girl who liked pretty things; not something easy to find in the 1970s Lesbian community.  Eventually I sort of grew up: I worked my way up the ladder in publishing (never a chosen career), learned how to clean and decorate an apartment, how to cook, and how to plan our leisure time the way I planned a publication's production schedule.  In many ways we had a wonderful life.  We traveled, had lots of friends and lots of pets.

Things are hard now.  The city is full of Gen Xers (now both men and women) with high powered careers and mates chosen the way you would buy a house or a car, and that is who you see.  That is who owns the conversation about what it means to be a person.  That is who writes the OpEd pieces.

So I chose love.  Now, love means holding the hand of someone 80 while she struggles to walk.  Buying groceries. Doing laundry. Arranging social services.

I'm an old fashioned girl.  I don't have a proud answer to the question of the millennium: What do you dooooo? But I have someone who tells me she loves me (even - still - that she is in love with me) every single day.