I say,
It’s in the click of my heels,   
The bend of my hair,   
the palm of my hand,   
The need for my care.   
’Cause I’m a woman
Phenomenally.
Phenomenal woman,
That’s me.

From Maya Angelou’s, “Phenomenal Woman.”

I have always loved the word phenomenal. It sounds better than remarkable. It sounds better than outstanding. It definitely sounds better than special. It points to a relationship with experience — as in a phenomena being an observable fact or event.

Phenomenal women I know are experience in a body.

They inspire and find inspiration. They ask for help and help others. They are soft and vulnerable. They are fierce and strong. They seek truth and speak the truth with kindness. They know when to work and when to rest. They are not super human. They are fully human.

I first heard this poem years ago, when I was much younger and more outside of myself. More likely to compete and judge and fear. Phenomenal women were others. Distant aspirations who received awards and had more friends than I could ever imagine. Goddesses who slay dragons before lunch. Gold medal winning super models who made it all look easy. That strangeness was uniquely freeing.

Now and I am older and phenomenal women are something else. The word gentle comes to mind. Soft on themselves and others. More lavender than musk. Beautiful in the broadest definition of beauty. Comfortable in the space between what is and what is not yet. Intentional and complete in their ability to give and receive love. That is what it means to be experience in a body. That is what it means to be a phenomenal woman.