Betty Friedan, that is. (Just read ‘The Feminine Mystique’ at 50.) She was a friend of my boss.
I met Gloria Steinem, too, a couple years before that. A different boss knew her. (She is more stunning, in person, than you can imagine, by the way.)
My bosses, all of them except for one, were Feminists with a capital F.
And here I am, after all that influence, all that exposure: a corporate wife, driving my 8-year-old Subaru around with my two kids in the back seat, off to the grocery store, home in time to make a nice dinner for them and my husband, who usually gets home too late to eat with the kids. (They usually have dessert with us while we eat dinner.)
I am not, unlike Friedan, bored out of my mind. It is easy not to be bored.
And I do have an economic point, managing this house as I do, to within an inch of its life. That kind of efficiency saves money, time, and energy. And it increases the productivity of the dollar-earner in our home (that husband of mine).
I remain free to “move on to something more.” In fact I can actually do something more at the same time.
I wonder what our daughter, and our son, will think of Betty Friedan at 75, or of me, in 2038.
I hope they don’t think I “sacrificed” or “gave up” anything. I hope they know I chose this, because I could, and that choice is all that matters.
Making sure you have a choice.