It was a Tuesday afternoon in late spring when my phone rang, the kind of day where the sun warms your skin, but the breeze still carries a chill. I was folding towels—one of those unremarkable moments—and almost didn’t pick up. But something in me stirred, the way someone at a party catches your eye from across the room, and suddenly you know the night’s about to change. So, I set the towel down, swiped to answer, and that’s when my life began its slow but undeniable pivot.
The man on the other end was from the state’s cultural affairs office, someone I had met briefly at an event but didn’t think I’d left much of an impression on. “We’ve got a situation,” he began, his tone conspiratorially low, like we were about to plot a heist. “There’s a legislative proposal coming down the pipeline, and we think it might be problematic for tribal sovereignty. We want your help bridging that gap.” Up until then, I was a liaison in title only, mostly attending roundtable meetings, exchanging polite smiles, and writing reports no one seemed to fully read. But this? This was substance. This was grit. And this was about to turn my quiet, slightly predictable world upside-down.
When the Call Changes More Than Your Career
The thing about life-changing phone calls is that they’re almost never accompanied by life-changing fanfare. This wasn’t a rom-com moment with Kate Hudson dramatically yelling into a cordless phone and immediately booking a cross-country flight. This was me, holding my cheap flip phone (yes, I was a late adopter to the smartphone wave), staring at my half-folded laundry, and realizing I didn’t have an “ah-ha” expression to match the occasion. Sometimes, change sneaks in like the back half of a sunset—gradual, quiet, and altogether unassuming.
Taking the job meant stepping into rooms with heavy energy and heavier egos. My task, suddenly monumental, was to explain indigenous sovereignty to people who still thought the Indian Removal Act was “a thing we should really explore further.” I could feel the weight of generations of ancestors, those who had survived colonization with persistence and grace, pressing me forward, but my nerves were real. One week in, I nervously joked to my cousin, “I’d rather go on a first date with every ex I’ve ever ghosted in one night than face another committee meeting.”
What Dating Taught Me About Negotiation
Honestly, relationships and politics have more in common than I’d anticipated. For one, both require an ability to read people with precision. Is he leaning away because I overshared about my obsession with Star Wars? Is the chairwoman suddenly flipping through documents after I used the phrase “colonial framework” because she’s annoyed or just bored? The only way to know is to slow down and pay attention—not to perform, but to stay present.
And here’s a handy tip: humor tends to diffuse almost anything. The first time I addressed the committee, I started with, “Good morning. I’m Tiana Whitewolf, and before we get into the hot-button stuff, I’d like to let you know I brought snacks for after. That’s right—Native cuisine diplomacy involves frybread.” It earned me a few smiles, even from the senator with the furrowed brow who I’m 95% sure hadn’t cracked a joke since Clinton’s first term.
In dating or diplomacy, humor goes far, but authenticity goes further. People can tell when you’re bluffing. They get when you’re not being real, when your words are just sound and not belief. Whether you’re in love or in a boardroom, you have to let people see what you really care about if you want them to care too.
The Unfolding of Inner Authenticity
In hindsight, that phone call was as much a callback to me as to the big work I needed to face. I had been drifting in a cloud of niceties and obligations for some time, handling the logistics of my job without really anchoring myself in its meaning. It’s funny how life will quite literally call you to step up when you’ve been coasting. For me, that call was a reminder of my obligation to my community—a call to embody the essence of the healing relationships we talk about in Diné (Navajo) culture. To stop waiting for the “right” moment to rise and instead get on my feet and begin.
Since that day, I’ve made it a practice to really, deeply listen. Not just to the words people say, but to the unspoken messages they carry—the things a person is hesitant to share but that spill through in tone or body language. This was already a value in my community, where elders pass on stories through both words and silence, but I’d lost touch with it. It felt good to reengage.
Flipping Life’s Script (And Maybe Love’s, Too)
For what it’s worth, being “that girl who keeps showing up to legislative meetings and making everyone uncomfortable” turned out to be one of the great loves of my life. But it’s not like life pauses your personal affairs so you can tackle bigger issues. Dating didn’t stop happening just because I was diving into work with the vigor of Leslie Knope meets Pocahontas.
Surprisingly (and hilariously), the lessons I learned on the job started creeping into my love life too. Need someone on board with your vision? Be specific about your needs. Nervous about opening up? Remember that the person on the other side can always tell when something is half-true. And if you’re unsure of where things stand, ask outright—whether you’re discussing land-access legislation with a roomful of bureaucrats or fumbling through a failed situationship with the guy who “isn’t great at texting” (hint: he probably is; he’s just not great at texting you).
The Big Takeaway: Pick Up the Phone
I think about declining that call sometimes. What if I hadn’t answered? Would someone else have stepped in, and would the path I found every step forward on have evaporated before me? Maybe. But what strikes me more than fear of the unknown is gratitude for the decision to pick up. I wasn’t “ready” that day, but life doesn’t often wait for us to feel ready anyway.
So if a call comes through—be it from work, love, or somewhere in that murky in-between—consider picking up. Sure, it might just be your gossipy tia wanting third-tier details about a wedding you’re barely invited to. But it might also be the start of something that could change your course, nudge you closer to who you’re supposed to be. Either way, you’ve got this, towels half-folded and all.
