In late June I went to Nantucket with my mother and my children for what is probably the twentieth summer in a row. The annual pilgrimage to my mother’s time-share on that lovely island began when my kids were babies and my mother was in her prime – about the age I am now. I’m not sure where I was, except overwhelmed by the classic juggling act.
Over the years I have enjoyed the benchmark that the Nantucket trip offered to monitor my children’s growing up. I see it most clearly …

For the several years since the show was discontinued, I turn to “West Wing” reruns to visit with cherished but vicarious friends and colleagues, to bask in the camaraderie of shared mission, well-worn work habits, recognized foibles and strengths – and trust. I really miss the part of my life that got left behind when I moved out of the going-to-an-office life experience. I now have a different kind of community – although many of the players are women whom I worked with back then – which I have called …

Recently I was invited to speak to a group of about 300 women in the suburbs of New York City. They were full of energy, wit and candor about the changes they were experiencing. As always the “question” part of the evening became what we once called a consciousness-raising. And as always, there were surprises. Someone asked for a show of hands of the “single” – divorced, widowed, never married – women, and to my (and their) amazement two-thirds of the hands went up. (When I polled the divorcees further …

We refer to childhood friends as “people we grew up with.” The phrase conjures kids coming over after school, giggling in my room, raiding our refrigerator, endorsing my annoyance with my little brother, knowing my parents in their prime. There is a special intimacy about that shared history, and whenever I run unto Someone I Grew Up With, I count on that special bond to bridge the years.
We certainly didn’t register at the time that we weren’t just growing up alongside one another – we were helping each other make …