Clearing.

I think that’s what yesterday was about.

Brush away.

Clear, clear, clear.

I left feeling a bit unsettled. Like maybe some expectations hadn’t been met. I didn’t dive in and share myself the way I always expect to.

My little sister was there.

I was at ease, having done the retreat last year and knowing several women there.

She only knew Daphne and me.

Didn’t know what was coming.

She is quiet and calm, almost as a rule.

We are an anxious clan, and she seems an outsider.

I try not to speak for her, not to overshadow, not to mute.

Like when we went car shopping. For her. I tried to defer to her, to wait for her to speak up. She was the customer, I merely supporting her. The salesmen needed to communicate to her first.

But it was so hard. I’d see the questions that should be asked, volunteer the answers they were looking for. It killed me when the man would look at me instead of her.

So yesterday, which was all about individual process, I tried not to speak for her, tried not to direct how she’d find her way, tried to introduce her to women I knew and support her and have fun with her, but nothing more.

Only once did we part. I wandered into the hall and felt the outdoors calling, so I answered. Went for a walk. Found the iced-over lake and still snowy footprints, hot piles of animal scat that had melted the snow.

And when I came back, she was different. “I know my year name,” she said.

And when it came time to share, she volunteered to be first. She told her name, explained it, read an intimate writing. And the others oohed the wisdom of this 25-year-old. And I was so proud.