Ruby Sharks

(Or how it started)

When my job centered around raising money, I spent a fair amount of time finding people. That’s what fundraising is: finding people.

There was a stretch of years when I raised money for a nonprofit focused on trauma-informed care for educators, social workers, and health care workers. A handful of donor names kept surfacing, and one stood out more than the others.

Let’s call her Ruby.

Ruby had been a steady and generous supporter of the organization for years, and from what I could tell on paper, no one had ever really reached out to know her. I would reconcile that.

I invited her to lunch in Boston. She said yes. I was surprised she was willing to drive into the city on a weekday, and a little awestruck when she arrived.

Ruby radiated. Gorgeous colors. Crystals. A feather earring in one ear, maybe peacock, and tiny studs in the other. She insisted I use her first name, as did I, and within a few minutes, we were on our way to Blue Dragon in the South End.

The conversation went long and wide. I learned Ruby was a medicine woman. I learned she had once heard one of the founders on the for-profit side of the organization speak and, in her words, felt her heart just open up. From that moment on, she devoted a percentage of her income to the nonprofit side of the work.

At first, that worried me. There had been a pattern in this organization: people hearing a founder speak, opening both their hearts and wallets, and still walking away without a concrete understanding of what they were actually supporting.

So I asked Ruby what she thought the organization did.

When she answered, I was relieved. She understood enough that I only had to sharpen the language a little. Given her study of energy, wellness, and connection, she already knew something essential: there is no caring for children without caring for the adults who care for them.

From there, the conversation stopped being business and became something else. We talked about motherhood, the collective consciousness, and whatever else was waiting for us that afternoon. At the end of lunch, she gave me a rock that reminded her of the organization. I promised to make sure she always knew what the organization was doing next.

Technically, it started as a business lunch. Years later, Ruby admitted she had only agreed to it because she hoped it might get her closer to the founder.

Instead, she got me.

We came together, each wanting something else, and ended up with a friendship that has long outlasted my time with that organization. We were not friends first. We are friends now, and I suspect we will be for the rest of this timeline.

Today, after taking myself out for lunch and coffee following a weekend mostly spent in bed, I kept thinking about that first meal with Ruby. About how we revealed a little of our light to one another, and how far that light has gone since.

Ruby is where the idea of Cancer Sharks came from.

Before the surgeries. Before the treatments. Before any version of this life rolled out, she invited me to let shark magic in. To let it do its work. To rid my body of the melanoma. To keep swimming, playing, and finding fun with the person I am now.

Through the pain, loss, and exhaustion, I still coax myself into seeing me as a sleek, sexy shark moving through the tides with her most vulnerable spot leading the way.

So far, this vision has carried me.

Which has me wondering something I don’t quite trust (yet). Maybe even though melanoma is a bitch, and even though the way we met was violent and terrifying, there may still come a kind of calm in our entanglement. Maybe not friendship. That may be asking too much.

But there was a time I would have said the same thing about Ruby and me. And I was wrong.

Now I understand: sometimes getting it wrong is how I get right.

There was this storm by our home a week ago, and when we went to our field to run the dogs the next day, a tree that clearly stood in the center of this field for more than 100 years, finally had enough. While awfully sad, it was also a beautiful reminder that nothing is permanent.

P.S. - Ruby has gone by a number of names since we first met. What hasn’t changed is her incredible offerings. If you want to learn more about working with her, let me know, and I can connect you with her team.