I stopped taking notes and just cried

This weekend, my pink chair sat empty.

I traded it for a spot on someone’s living room floor, surrounded by more than two dozen of our scholars. I’m still carrying what happened in that room.

For two days, our scholars gathered for a Purpose Lab retreat. They curled up on couches, sat cross legged on rugs, examined their strengths, named the obstacles that have shaped them, and asked themselves a question we don’t make enough room for: What would a life of wholeness and fulfillment actually look like?

Thanks to Stephanie Carmany and the Carmany Family Foundation, they had a home where they could be still, honest, and held. There is something different about doing this kind of work in a living room instead of a conference room. It is one thing to be told you are welcome, and another thing entirely to feel it.

Somewhere in the middle of the weekend, I stopped taking notes and just watched.

I watched one scholar reach for the hand of another she barely knew because she could tell she needed it. I watched them nod as one of their sisters admitted something hard out loud. The kind of nod that says, I see you, and I am not going anywhere.

I watched young women arrive carrying their own private weight and leave a little lighter for having shared it with people who understood.

This is exactly what SOS was always meant to be. Not just a scholarship, but a sisterhood sturdy enough to catch someone when she stumbles and loud enough to cheer when she rises. I sat on that living room floor with tears in my eyes more than once, overcome by the simple, holy sight of women choosing to show up for each other.

The retreat closed with vision pitches. One by one, our scholars stood in that living room and shared who they see themselves becoming in ten years.

Their sisters cheered for every single one of them like it was already true.

They see themselves as doctors and attorneys, engineers and advocates, artists and public servants. But underneath the titles was something deeper. They spoke about giving back. Mentoring another young woman. Healing. Being present. Giving their families the rest and stability they have worked so hard for.

Again and again, I heard the same through line: They want to matter to someone. They want to stand beside another woman the way their sisters stood beside them this weekend.

I left that home with a full heart, a few tissues balled up in my pocket, and a reminder of what the pink chair has always represented. Sometimes the most powerful thing we can do is simply make room for someone else.

With gratitude,

Ginny