Wait, Women Can Actually Be This Kind?!

How I stumbled upon utopia on a frigid Saturday in midtown Manhattan

Look at all these writers! And readers! And readers taking pictures of writers!

Last week, I blocked out eight hours in our family Google calendar for “Mama in NYC for Zibby book event” on Saturday. My husband spent several days in denial that I would actually be gone all day, so it was only as I was heading out the door that he asked, “What the heck is Zibby?”

“Who, love. You mean, ‘Who the heck is Zibby?’”

I was introduced to the Zibby-verse by a longtime client-turned-cherished-friend who, like me, is an avid reader. My friend attended a Zibby retreat and recommended that I look up Zibby Media because she thought I would jibe with this ceiling-shattering, women-led company and community. And she was absolutely right.

Zibby Media was founded by Zibby Owens and comprises a publishing house, podcasts (this one is the OG and a favorite of mine), retreats, a book club, writing classes, an online magazine, special events, and an independent bookstore in Santa Monica that is definitely on my travel list. PHEW! Oh, and Zibby also has four children. She seems to be one of those mythical unicorn moms who does it all effortlessly. So when I saw in Zibby’s newsletter that they were putting on an event in NYC called New Year, New Chapter, I had to get myself there just to make sure she was a real human. The invite also promised free swag and lots of books. There was no way I was not going to cash in one of my few and precious chits to clock out of parenting for the day to attend this banger!

***

I drove into NYC on a frigid Saturday morning singing show tunes at the top of my lungs and delighting in the absence of traffic. I decided to splurge on my go-to parking garage instead of circling for street parking so that I could get to the event early and have some extra time with my cherished client-friend, who was also attending. After pulling my car into the lot, I separated my car key from the rest of my key ring, slapped on some tinted lip gloss, and headed out for my literary adventure.

“Excuse me, ma’am!” I turned to find the attendant jogging toward me. “I need your key!”

I’d left the key sitting on the console, duh.

“It’s in there!” I said confidently, and continued power-walking out of the garage. I was a woman on a mission. I was going to let my inner book nerd out on the town and enjoy every minute of this day.

My nose was already numb as I charged across the arctic tundra of midtown Manhattan when I thought to myself, “I better just check my purse to make sure I left my car key in the car.” I unzipped my bag with freezing fingers and there was my car key, jangling right next to the other half of my keyring. Crap.

Cursing my perimenopausal brain fog, I made an immediate about-face and started jogging back to the garage. I arrived just a few minutes later, key in hand and apologetic smile on face. Ignoring my phone buzzing incessantly in my coat pocket, I said to the attendants breezily, “I’m so sorry! Here’s my key!”

“We had to call your husband!” Said one attendant. (That explains the non-stop phone calls, great.)

“We looked all over your car and had to check the glove box for the VIN number!” Said another.

“It is a REAL problem for us if we don’t have your key,” warned a third.

“Well here it is,” I replied, less breezily.

“You’ll see we moved things around, so you’ll have to put everything back,” said the first attendant.

With a big FU smile plastered to my face, I tossed my key onto my front seat and replied, “Well, my friends, you’re lucky you’ll never be a 43-year-old perimenopausal woman contending with brain fog on a near-daily basis!” And with that, I turned and started heading toward the book event. Again.

***

While this harried start to the day was not ideal, I was determined not to let it get me down. Upon arriving at the delightful Whitby Hotel (Who knew this boutique gem was but one block away from the apartment where I moved in with my now-husband on our second date? I didn’t!), I spotted my friend and gave her a huge hug. Then we descended to the lower level via the elevator because she was wearing uncomfortable shoes (no judgment - we’ve all been there). In the moment before the door opened, my mind swirled. Would this event be any fun? Would I feel intimidated or less-than, as an aspiring and unpublished author? And what about this Zibby? Would she even deign to talk to a nobody like me, or would she be too busy schmoozing up her authors and other VIPs?

The elevator door opened, and there she was, smiling wide, and greeting every single woman (and the few dudes) who walked into the room. My friend and I checked in, filled out our name tags, and decided to ask Zibby if she would take a selfie with us. When Zibby turned to us, I didn’t feel intimidated or less-than at all. In fact, I felt like we were already friends.

“I’m so sorry about the trolling and hacking,” I said to her. “You have had quite a week, and yet here you are looking so put-together!”

Somewhere in my brain my inner critic was shouting at me: “WHAT ARE YOU DOING?! YOU DON’T EVEN KNOW HER! YOU DIDN’T EVEN INTRODUCE YOURSELF, DUMMY!” But Zibby gave me neither ‘tude nor any indication that we weren’t already friends. We had a brief chat, took a cute selfie, and then my friend and I moved along so the next attendee could speak with her.

As we made our way across the room, my friend spotted Julie Chavez, the author of a memoir hot off the Zibby Books’ presses called Everyone But Myself. This book is on my to-read shelf, but my very well-read friend has already finished it. She introduced herself and gave Julie a heart-felt compliment about her book. And then I opened my big mouth again and told Julie how I’d separated my car key from my key ring and left the parking garage with it still in my purse. “Perimenopause is a trip, amirite?!”

Again, the warm feeling of friendship, even though I do not know this person and I have not even read her book. Again, my inner critic lambasting me: “YOU ARE TELLING A STRANGER ABOUT YOUR PERIMENOPAUSAL BRAIN FOG, YOU WEIRDO!”

But, again, I was received with nothing but a kind smile and commiserating comment about perimenopause being the pits.

Warmth and kindess. ALL DAY LONG. Women inspiring each other, making each other laugh. Anna Quindlen delivering a keynote that took our collective breath away and made some of us cry. Writers supporting writers. Writers supporting readers. Readers supporting writers. Published supporting unpublished. Vets supporting noobs. I was in an auditorium with a bunch of freaking dynamos, but my imposter syndrome that follows me around of its own volition like Peter Pan’s sassy shadow was nowhere to be found.

New Year, New Chapter was an eight-hour utopia where judgment and cattiness and one-up(wo)manship and competition did not exist. Any self-defeating thought that managed to creep into my head - “Look how far ahead of me all of these authors are” or some other such nonsense - was quickly quashed by a gut feeling that any one of these women would help me if I ever have a question about my proposal, or editing, or the publishing process, or anything else. I felt immediately welcome and accepted, even though no one except my friend knew me. The magic of this experience was in its realness. My cup is filled for months to come.

***

I am now immersed in the Zibby-verse. I am following the company’s Instagram accounts and their authors. I signed up for the book club and subscribed to receive the Zibby Books published book of the month because treat yo’self. I am excited to keep reading and connecting. Zibby has renewed my faith that there really are women out there who want nothing more than to lift each other up and help each other share their stories. This is a group of women (and a few dudes) who believe wholeheartedly in the power and necessity of storytelling, and I am so happy to have joined them.

***

Genuine, kind, supportive women are out there. Maybe you’re already surrounded by your badass village. In which case, yay! But if you’re not, if you are still looking for your people, don’t give up, and don’t compromise. Your people are out there, arms and hearts and minds open, waiting for you find them.