Prime Time - Jane Fonda [66]
I remember vividly when I first witnessed this in action. It happened at a GI coffeehouse in 1971. Run by antiwar activists, these coffeehouses were meeting places that were springing up outside major military bases around the country. A few of the men on the staff had gone ahead on their own and passed out leaflets to GIs without consulting the women staffers. One of the women found out and protested. The men put her down for making a fuss, since they knew the contents of the leaflets would have been approved anyway. The other women on staff stood by her: “If we’re trying to model democracy within the staff, then process matters. You’re not entitled to take us for granted.” I’d always sided with the men—the winning side, or so I’d thought—so this brought me up short.
By now I’ve grown accustomed to these acts of solidarity among women, but witnessing the power and beauty of it when it was still so startlingly new to me burned away my individualistic dross and allowed the pure gold of friendships to enrich and cushion me. Today, as the separate skeins of my life weave themselves into its final fabric, I want, above all else, for there to be many threads of love shimmering through. I often think how different, how frightening, aging would be for me had this not happened. I know that I can lose everything but that my friendships with women, together with my family, will always be there, no matter what.
Most of my friends are younger than I am, some by more than twenty years. They are creative people, spiritual people, businesspeople, and activists for social change. We have one another’s backs. When I am down I can talk to them, and their understanding, advice, and encouragement lift me. I try to do the same in return.
When I had hip replacement surgery several years ago, Eve Ensler was at my bedside, massaging my feet, as I surfaced through the haze of anesthesia. “Why are you here?” I asked, unused to being tended to and knowing all too well how unimaginably busy Eve was. “Because I’m your friend,” she laughed. “Of course I’m here. I want to take care of you.” I allowed myself to relax into this caring, but it wasn’t easy. To paraphrase Ursula Le Guin, I am a slow unlearner, but oh my, how I love my unteachers.1
Eve Ensler in 2011.
PAUL ALLEN
With Pat Mitchell and Eve Ensler at Pat’s wedding to Scott Seydel.
With my friends Jodie Evans and Pat Mitchell at a fund-raiser for The Women’s Center.
REBEKAH SPICUGLIA, WOMEN’S MEDIA CENTER
With Lily Tomlin when she did her one-woman show in Atlanta.
My best friend, Diana Dunn (middle), and me (far right), age 11.
Left to right: Diana Dunn, me, and Sue Sally Jones in 2004.
It’s good to have younger friends. At least that way not everyone you know will die before you do! As Dr. Ken Methany, Regents Professor in the Department of Counseling and Psychological Services at Georgia State University, told me, “Someone said, ‘The worst thing about getting old is that there is nobody around anymore to remember when you were young.’ But there is compensation for this. Older people tend to have more intense relationships. So there are fewer people in the network, but the relationships are more intense, more deep. You can’t maintain all the acquaintances you had when you were thirty-five, you don’t have the energy to do all of that anymore, so people tend to invest themselves with a bit more authenticity, more disclosure.”
With Sally Field in the 1970s.
In 2011, with my friends Sally Field and Elizabeth Lesser, at then First Lady Maria Shriver’s California Women’s Conference, where we all spoke.
Me with my new haircut and Vera Wang dress at the 2000 Oscars, two months after Ted and I split up.
ERIC CHORBONNEAU/BE IMAGES
In Atlanta, with Pearl Cleage and her husband, Zanon.
I agree with this. I think it’s also nice to have