I Forget the Names of My Idols

A poem.

2 min readSep 27, 2019

This month, Forbes named 99 men and only 1 woman on its list of ‘most innovative leaders.’ It reminded me of this poem I’d scribbled in my Notes app. In it, I’m fascinated by the power of a name. And the fact that the names of the people who make an impact on us can escape us. But that’s just it — memory is tied to repetition.

I have to give a big shout-out to podcasts. Without them and their creators, I wouldn’t have found or heard the voices of many of my now-idols.

I Forget the Names of My Idols

If you put me on the spot,
I’d forget the names of my idols.
The ones who matter sink
treacherously below instant recall.

Perhaps I forget because it’s so easy
to remember the names of the chosen.
Go ahead and try
to think of a name that’s not clickable.

Perhaps I can’t discern one name,
Because it’s the impressions of many
that have changed me,
like ten million feet upon the stair.

I remember the brightness, though.
The feeling of being ignited
by a woman who’s name didn’t matter
as much as what she stood for.

If you said, no really, who?
I’d pull up my podcast archive, and smile
at my saved quotes. Like Mary saying she felt
“slightly anxious about the Clinton-Merkel pantsuits.”

Or Nora who said, “Terrible, thanks for asking.”
I’d hear Hannah going “Aw little guy! You’re alright, mate.”
Then Chimamanda warning of the danger in a single story.
And Toni’s compassion for women unlike ourselves.

My idols know their choices obscure them;
That they might fade from memory.
And in turn, they might not matter
to the chosen.

But they matter to me
and to ten million names they’ll never know.
Because my story is a sister to theirs,
and my voice only carries so far.

So far might be enough, they say,
their voices ringing of possibility;
That our names and choices matter,
if only to a chosen few.