Remembering A Champion

This week, my thoughts have been consumed with Liz Shear.  Since news of her death, I have been revisiting memories I haven’t thought about in years, maybe even decades now.  Our every day meetings and conversations have taken on greater significance now that I understand there won’t be anymore of them.  How can that be?

But how lucky I was to have 35 years of friendship and mentorship and partnership with this incredible person.  Over the years our relationship evolved as we evolved.  In the beginning, I was a grantmaker meeting her in her office in Old Town.  She was the Executive Director of San Diego Youth and Community Services, advocating in new and impressive ways to support youth in crisis.  She was seasoned, I was not.  She flowed in her colorful scarves and I was “professional” in my suits and heels.  We appeared to be so different, but we discovered we weren’t in the ways that mattered most.

She moved on to offices in Midway, then to  a “retirement” that led to consulting and teaching at USD.  I went from a foundation to a network and then to consulting.  Through it all, we drove the streets in her blue Miata, sat under the avocado tree, dreamed up programs in Alcala Park and beyond.  We worked together on The Children’s Initiative, created the Kaleidoscope Award, sat on boards, and co-designed leadership stuff.   In 2011, she became my professor at USD and I formally became her student, although I had already been learning from her for so long it was hard to notice a difference.  We celebrated each other’s birthdays and weddings and graduations and like all good friendships, we saw each other through challenges too. We were both moms to one child, a son.  We gushed over them in ways only we could.  And we understood the bond.  We were friends, colleagues, thought partners and cheerleaders.

In her later years, Liz became known as the “governance guru” and that she was.  I certainly won’t ever hear or say the word “generative” without thinking of Liz.  She changed our concept of board governance, educated us on the “triangle” and urged us to govern well.  What Liz understood was that to do the front line work, to meet and accomplish the purpose of a nonprofit, nonprofit boards had to understand their work and do it well.  She cared deeply for the mission of nonprofits so educating nonprofit leaders and board members was aligned with where her heart was- being in service to people and creating stronger communities through nonprofit organizations.

As Executive Director of San Diego Youth and Community Services, Liz’s dedication to advocating for young people in crisis was unparalleled. She didn’t just envision change; she orchestrated it, reshaping systems and perceptions to uplift those most in need. She provoked those in the sector to work differently. Her presence was transformative, her empathy boundless, as she navigated the corridors of advocacy with grace and determination. In trying to describe Liz to someone recently, I called her a “champion for young people”, especially those in crisis.  I can still see her interacting with the kids at the shelter.  She related.  She connected.  She loved.  Her gift was one of acceptance and accompaniment.  These kids had seen bad times, had had tough experiences, many didn’t have families or homes, struggled in school, and weren’t sure what would come next.  And Liz was Liz, which meant she saw them.  And she let them know it.  She loved them.  She valued them.  She worked for them.

 

 

Liz was my champion too. She championed all who knew her.  She championed us on in our work, in our learning, and in our search for meaningful lives. And she did it the same way she championed the youth – she came along beside us and accompanied us on our journey by making us feel seen and valued,  and by creating a space where we could be our true selves without fear of reproach. She didn’t judge, was wildly hospitable and was giddy at the possibilities that bubbled up naturally between people in relationship.  She was in love with loving the world and it’s people – she was in love with us.  And her love made me a better human.  I am guessing, it made you one too.

I’m not sure what the world looks like without Liz in it.  Already, I know it is not the same.  I’ll do my best to carry on and to carry her with me, as I know others will too.  But I will miss her more than I can actually acknowledge at this moment.   I’m not sure I’ll ever stop looking for a little blue car carrying my friend ready to share love and wisdom and get to work.  But I do know, I will never stop being grateful that we got to do life together for a little bit.

Thank you, my friend.  The world is better, in so many ways, because you were in it.

Janine Mason