Virginia “Gin” Gibson and I probably shouldn't work together as well as we do.
Gin likes black and white.
I live almost entirely in grey.
She is methodical, focused and precise. I can have 14 ideas before breakfast and would like to discuss every one of them with you.
At length.
Yet when our offices were down the hall from each other at the Michigan State Medical Society, we became one of those pairs whose differences somehow made the whole thing work.
And apparently, I even introduced a little grey into Gin's life.
Although it turns out I can't take all the credit.
Figuring it out
Gin left Michigan in her early twenties without much confidence in unfamiliar settings and moved to the Deep South as a Navy wife.
She didn't have a support system nearby. She did have herself.
“I think that led to my independence and encouraged my ability to figure things out,” she told me.
Constant moves exposed her to different cultures and taught her how to adapt.
They also did something I find particularly amusing.
Being a Navy wife, she said, made her “more comfortable with the greyness and that is how some people thrive.”
Then, because she knows exactly what I was thinking:
“I know, can you imagine how black and white I was before this!”
No, Gin. I cannot.
Do it right
One thing about Gin hasn't changed.
If she's going to do something, she's going to do it right.
That started early. Her parents had high standards, including during the many home-improvement projects she helped with growing up.
“If I couldn't do it right the first time, I would be upset.”
Years later, that same standard showed up in her work.
Gin had deep expertise in health insurance when we worked together. Later, she moved into human resources. On the surface, they're different disciplines.
Gin sees the connection.
“Ultimately, I enjoy helping people understand things, supporting people and helping solve problems.”
Explain the benefit. Explain the policy. Listen to the problem. Help someone figure out what comes next.
That's Gin.
Knowing your strengths
Gin is also remarkably matter-of-fact about what she isn't.
When we talked about caring for aging parents, she didn't offer a sentimental answer.
“I am not a good caregiver!!”
Classic Gin.
Then she explained.
She's very good at the logistics of caregiving: finding good care, managing finances and making sure things get done.
The “touchy feely” part?
That's where she wants someone else.
“So I guess I learned to play into my strengths and let someone else play into their strengths.”
There's a lot of wisdom in that.
We spend so much time trying to become good at everything that sometimes maturity is simply knowing what you bring—and appreciating the person who brings something else.
Different on purpose
Maybe that's why Gin and I worked.
She says we complemented each other.
I helped her communicate, pull back when she was so focused she might miss something and recognize when something wasn't particularly important in the grand scheme of things.
“It's not brain surgery.”
She gave me something just as valuable: someone I trusted completely.
“We were honest with each other and worked together instead of competing,” she said.
I knew Gin would support me.
She knew I would tell her when I thought she was wrong.
Neither required the other person to become more like us.
That's rarer than it should be.
Who's actually in charge?
Gin also spent much of her career in rooms where she was one of relatively few women, although she says she didn't spend much time thinking of herself as “a woman working in a man's world.”
She simply did her job.
But she remembers meetings where she was the decision maker and a client or vendor would direct questions to the male staff member sitting beside her.
Gin's solution was very Gin.
She answered the question before he could.
She sees less of that today. But those experiences changed the assumptions she makes about other people.
Now when she enters an unfamiliar room, she tries not to assume who has authority based on how someone looks.
Another little bit of grey.
Picking up where we left off
Gin and I don't talk every day.
Or every week.
Sometimes not even every month.
Her mom used to say the sign of a good friend was being able to pick up where you left off, no matter how much time had passed.
That's us.
Gin believes people can enter our lives for a reason, a season or a lifetime. Some friendships serve a particular need. Some belong to a particular chapter. And some endure.
She has a group of women she calls her Blue Lake Lodge Girls. They met through the insurance industry and have been part of one another's lives for more than 20 years—as mentors, sounding boards, supporters and, when necessary, critics.
“I'm not sure where I would be without them in my life.”
I understand that.
When I asked Gin what thread she's following now, she didn't have an answer.
And maybe she doesn't need one yet.
The woman who once needed everything to be black or white has spent a lifetime learning to adapt, trust other people's strengths, accept that not everything is equally important and become a little more comfortable in the grey.
Maybe the next thread doesn't need to be defined yet.
Maybe she'll figure it out.
Gin always does.
