Lessons From a Woman Who Asked the Right Questions

Fourteen years ago, we lost my mother. Today I want to honor her by sharing what she left us: her words, her values, and the way she lived.

This has been one of the hardest things I have ever written. There is so much to say about her, and about the impact she had on me, and words feel insufficient, even amiss. What follows is just a little something on her. I would have to write a book to honor her properly, and even then it wouldn't be enough. Some lessons and some impact can't be put into words. They simply live on as they are.

In times like these, with wars, elections, and a world that seems permanently on edge, I often wonder what she would say.

I can't help but hear her words during these US midterm elections, where noise is mistaken for momentum. She knew what I'm still learning: the greatest and most fit leader isn't always the loudest.

She always had something interesting to say. She read widely and knew history well, but her gift was putting it into perspective. She could take a loud, confusing moment and show you where to look. She was a journalist and a business administrator, not an economist or a policymaker, and she never needed those titles. She knew what questions to ask, and those questions led to answers that changed the status quo. Respected leaders in our country sought her out to talk.

A Student of Life

Before the lessons, a little about who she was.

She was an avid student of life: a reader, endlessly curious. Poetry, science fiction, nonfiction, novels. She gravitated at times toward Kahlil Gibran, and two of his passages stayed with us more than any others. In "On Marriage," the line "Let there be spaces in your togetherness." In "On Children," the opening one: "Your children are not your children."

She was a great partner, and she spoke often about the art of a relationship and the work of nurturing one. And she lived "On Children" as a mother. She loved us completely without trying to own us, and she wanted us to become ourselves.

She never stopped learning, and she never let us stop either. Everything that follows grew from that curiosity.

These are some of the lessons I learned from her.

1. Listen more than you speak

This was one of her most repeated pieces of advice. She believed you learn nothing while you're talking, and that the person who listens first understands first.

It went hand in hand with another line she once shared: "Lower your voice and strengthen your argument." She never needed volume. Her strength was in the substance, and people leaned in to hear it.

2. Treat others the way you would like to be treated

Simple to say, and very hard to live. She lived it. Her empathy went beyond the norm, and it shaped how she dealt with everyone, from the powerful to the people no one else was talking to.

She also knew what to do with the noise. "A palabras necias, oídos sordos." Treat people well, and don't give your energy to those who aren't acting in good faith.

3. Remove the blindness

She spoke about injustice often. Not as an abstraction, but as something to look at directly. She tried to remove any blindness from reality, and she always seemed to know where to look and how to help.

She was also a natural systems thinker. She saw how pieces connect, how a problem in one place is usually a symptom of something somewhere else. It is why she could cut through a situation others found overwhelming. She never stopped at the surface.

4. Resolve with intelligence, and be patient

She believed problems are solved with a clear head, not with reaction. And she liked to remind us that the one who laughs last, laughs better. Not as a threat, but as a lesson in patience: don't rush to win the moment. Think about the long game.

5. Make people shine

Empowerment, she believed, begins at home. Some people have the instinct for it, and she did. She always found a way to bring out the best in others. She celebrated differences instead of trying to flatten them.

She was fierce and solid, and also soft when softness was needed. People listened to her, and what they felt was both respect and admiration.

She never aspired to power. She created it anyway, through inspiration, respect, and knowledge. That may be the most durable kind there is.

6. Think before you act

She once shared a line I think about often: "Behind everything you do is a thought. Every behavior is motivated by a belief, and every action is prompted by an attitude. So let's do it right from the start."

That was how she approached things. Be deliberate. Know why you are doing what you are doing.

7. Enjoy what you have

She believed happiness is not a matter of accumulation. "It is not how much we have, but how much we enjoy, that makes happiness."

It is easy to spend a life chasing the next thing and never arrive. She taught us to notice what is already here, to be grateful for it, and to enjoy it fully. It is a quiet kind of wealth, and no one can take it from you.

8. You are already a masterpiece

She shared words from Santosha that she clearly believed: "Drop the idea of becoming someone, because you are already a masterpiece. You can't be improved. You have only to come to it, to know it, to realize it."

She never wanted us to spend our lives trying to become someone else, or to prove our worth to anyone. Growth matters, but worth is not something you earn. You start from it. That is a gift to give a child, and she gave it to us.

9. Live fully, and be there

She understood that life doesn't give you rehearsals. She shared this one in Spanish, and it still moves me:

"La vida es una obra de teatro que no permite ensayos. Por eso, canta, ríe, baila, ama y vive intensamente cada momento de tu vida."

Life is a play with no rehearsals, so sing, laugh, dance, love, and live every moment fully.

And she taught us to be present for others: "Cuando te duele mirar hacia atrás y te da miedo mirar adelante, mira hacia la izquierda o la derecha y allí estaré, a tu lado." When it hurts to look back and you're afraid to look ahead, look to your left or your right, and I'll be there beside you.

She was. And in the way her values live on in us, she still is.

Fourteen Years Later

It has been fourteen years since she passed, and I am still learning from her. Losing her at seventeen taught me how fragile life is, and how much of who we become is shaped by the people who raised us. Her absence is real, but so is her presence in the values we live by.

These lessons were never just for us. They are for anyone trying to be a better listener, a better neighbor, a better thinker, a better person. And in a season of so much noise, maybe a better judge of who deserves to lead.