Anthropologist Margaret Mead once lectured about the postmenopausal red-tailed deer, a particularly wise species of fauna living somewhere in the far north. Mead explained that in their old age, when all the old bucks had been killed off in skirmishes, the females became the oldest survivors.
“In time of drought, these old does could remember where once long ago under similar circumstances water sources had been found. When spring came late, they recalled sunny slopes where the snows melted early. They knew how to find sheltered places where blizzards could be waited out. Under such circumstances, they took over the leadership of the herd,” Margaret is quoted is saying.
Among the hats I wear, one is as an ethicist. (That would be someone who works with corporations to train their staffs in the art of ethical decision-making.) Interesting how the generations respond differently to the subject matter. The younger people, especially “the millennials” who started their careers around the time of Enron’s spectacular demise, believe that only the naive can even imagine such a thing as a work environment that allows you to be both successful and ethical.
Becoming an ethicist is a job well-suited for a woman fifty plus, as one has to have been around long enough to remember a time when it was possible to practice one’s values in the workplace routinely, rather than as an exception to the rule. In this, I have begun to think of myself as a post-menopausal red-tailed ethicist, who along with red-tailed dears have “a unique contribution to make when well-stored, long experience and practical know-how, fortitude, and hope are required. Women throughout time have practiced and nurtured these skills for community living, and they serve ongoing species survival.”
Carol Orsborn