What would RBG do? … Finding our way with Guides & Not-Comparing

The text came in Friday at 4:56pm from a good friend: “Just saw the news that RBG died today. Fuck.” My heart sank. I had just pulled up with my oldest daughter at her dad’s house. She saw my stunned face, and given that her world has been rocked with unexpected news multiple times over the past years, she demanded to know what happened. We sat in the driveway as I explained the implications and shared my fears. Later as I drove away, I let the tears freely fall to mourn another heaviness of 2020— that the fierceness, beauty and power of RBG was no longer with us.

The Magic of White Space

I had a ton of work to do that Friday night—projects I needed to finish, a workshop that needed content, invoices to send—I’d put these all off until I had the time to focus without the girls. I knew that there was no way I could work with the heaviness of the RBG news. I ditched it all, grabbed my board and headed for the ocean.

I needed the white space to clear my head, get in touch with my body, and truly mourn. Surfing has always done that for me. Friday evening at Ocean Beach (OB) was eerie. The fog was so thick, you couldn’t see more than 20 feet in front of you. OB has always intimidated me— the current, tides and fierceness of this ocean has frequently taken lives, and I never felt that I was the strongest surfer or young enough to have the stamina to deserve to surf there. That day I trusted the report from a surf-obsessed chat thread and paddled into the white gray nothing on faith alone. I sat in whitespace bobbing up and down in the waves. Every direction looked the same—white-gray magical mist against the gray of the ocean water. My tears blend with the salt water. Seabirds and dolphins appear and disappear through the grayness. I nod to the other surfers around me, relieved to not be alone. And then I surrender to the rhythm of the ocean and the joy of surfing. I’m thankful for the glassy playful waves that emerged from the fog.

As I bobbed and surfed in my white space, I kept flip-flopping between the paradox of conflicting feelings I had:

Hopelessness and grief. Fuck, how did 2020 give us yet another disaster? How’s this going to affect the election? What can I do? Likely nothing… if RBG has tried so hard to impact the world, and yet this is effect of her death, who am I to think that I could do something?
Admiration for her life well-lived. The inspiration of RBG to live life in my own way while also fighting for meaningful causes I believe in.

The Danger of Competitive Comparisons

As I think about Ruth Bader Ginsburg, three things come to mind:

She’s had a long journey through life, even before her relatively recent notoriety as a Supreme Court Justice. She’s always been a feminist—as one of nine women in her Harvard law school class, as an equal household partner to her husband, and a fighter for gender equality at the ACLU.
On her deathbed, she continued to serve her values & her causes telling her granddaughter Darla: “My most fervent wish is that I will not be replaced until a new president is installed,”
She’s persevered through a lot of deaths in her life—her mom dying on the same day as her high school graduation, her beloved husband passing away a decade ago from cancer, and her dear colleague Antonin Scalia despite opposite judicial views.

Those three things trigger a sense of hopelessness in me. How on earth could I even aspire to do 1/100th of the things that RBG has done?

Brene Brown in a recent podcast episode talks about the dangers of comparison in the context of comparative suffering:

Unfortunately, one of the things that’s immediately triggered when we go into fear and scarcity is comparison. Comparison and who’s got more, who’s got it better? What are they doing? What’s crazy about comparison when it’s triggered by fear and scarcity, is that even our pain and our hurt are not immune to being assessed and ranked, So, without thinking, we start to rank our suffering and use it to deny or give ourselves permission to feel. “I can’t be disappointed about my college graduation right now. Who am I to be sad that I’m not going to be able to have this great ceremony, because there are people sick and dying?” Or, “I can’t be angry and afraid about being sick right now, because there are people sicker than me. I can’t be scared for my children because there are homeless kids who have nowhere to sleep tonight. Why should I be tired and angry, I have a job right now and so many people don’t.”

Brene’s wisdom reminds me of the dangers of comparison. I’m no RBG and will likely never have the extent of impact. And that’s OK. She was on her path and I’m on mine. And with her death, I can choose fear and scarcity or I can choose to be inspired by her path.

The Wisdom of Guides: What would RBG do?

Each day and each situation gives us dilemmas and choices. That’s the magical unfolding of the mystery of life. We can choose how we want to react and we can choose who guides us.

For me, RBG represents independence and the fierce courage to always speak her mind and choose her own path, whether it’s being about to be “a little deaf” in service of marital harmony or speaking her mind about Trump as a presidential candidate and then later apologizing.

Having her as my guide helps provide another perspective. And when I’m faced with issues of the day I can ask myself “What would RBG do?” and use that perspective as a way to guide my path forward.

Right now, as I grieve and process, I choose to hear my version of her voice guiding my path forward:

Tutti, stop beating yourself up over comparisons. You can be your own person, be independent. It’s OK not to have the emotional capacity to do more for this upcoming November election. It’s OK to keep going as you are— loving your family, supporting your clients, and continuing to speak your truth. That is enough.

That’s my version of choosing RBG as a guide. It’s likely nothing she’d ever say, yet I can choose to honor her independence and follow this guidance. It offers me a different perspective.

Bottom-Line

Like many of us, the death of RBG affected me greatly. It felt like yet another disaster from 2020. My way out is to treat myself with kindness and gift myself the magic of white space. White space helped me process grief and clarify the path forward. I choose is not to compare. I choose to have Ruth be my guide. I continue to ask myself: What would RBG do?