I know: it's art.
I know: it's fictional.
But it could be real.
It leaves me to question myself: where did it all go? Where did all the romance, all the passion, all the risk, all the defiance, all the rebelliousness, all the fearlessness I used to act on, with abandon, where did it all go?
Did I cash in all my grand gestures? Was I only good for about five, anyway?
Did I abandon that way of living because I doubt everything I do now? And where did that doubt come from so I can chase down the source and just annihilate it? Is it judgment I harshly passed on myself? Did I forget that life is fully about making mistakes? That it doesn't mean anything unless you do? Sometimes twice? Often more than that? More importantly, where does that doubting end?
And it's not just me: does no one write the letter, miss the airplane, fly across the country, show up at the doorstep, walk away from the table, lean in for the kiss, reach for the hand that will change it all? Does no one make it known, make it known, make it known? Or is it just me?
Is it because I run from things? Am I perhaps running from the right things?
Is it because I don't know what to do with goodness? As if it's a language I cannot speak, and yet I believe it to contain something I deeply, deeply fear?
Is it because, rather than change myself or my circumstances, I instead adapt my desires and beliefs to those circumstances? Tricking myself into wanting what I have, because that's so, so much easier than going after what I want? (Can I blame Sheryl Crow's "Soak up the Sun" for that? Is there some sort of royalties thing we can work out, cuz, you know, I feel like I deserve some compensation....) Have I based my life on pop culture sound bites and song lyrics that were constructed, not in truth, but because they neatly fall into a hook?
By risking nothing, what am I gaining?
By being safe, and venturing nothing forth, aren't I securing only one outcome: mediocrity?
Or another: disappointment?
I see someone chasing down their destiny and their dreams, and I feel a deep uneasiness in my heart. It's guilt. It's a voice that says, very, very quietly, and somehow, wordlessly, I could be doing that. I should be trying that, too. Why? Only because, it's what I want.
Saw a great movie the other day about this. "School for Scoundrels". Billy Bob Thornton to a class of self-described weenies:
"When was the last time you screamed for anything? When you wanted the t-t! You're not willing to scream for anything anymore!"
"You risk nothing, you gain nothing."
"Who dares, wins."
These are ideas and urgings that I've pinned to my heart for the last 15 years.
And what do I have to show for them? Not enough. Some grand gestures, some fatal flaws, some very funny stories, because that's all you can do about it, really, is laugh.
But it's not enough.
I wonder that I'd prefer a thousand fleeting relationships, for the next twenty years, than to end up eating dinner across from someone whom I no longer speak to, when I'm 80, but whom I am tied to, in some huge, insurmountable, exhausted way, when the best parts of me are things I gave up on years ago, and that no one would be interested in, at that point, anyway.
I don't know what I'm cut out for.
I'm more afraid that I won't find out.
Is it being a girl?
Am I fundamentally missing some chemical, some chromosome, that enables me to just reach out and grab it?
Am I missing the "hunter" instinct?
Is there anyway to pierce through this?
How do you change your nature, when you're not sure what your nature is?
I think about men and women and the fundamental differences between us that are largely biological, and after that, social, cultural, etc. This is what I cannot deny, no matter how hard I've tried, and people, it's been a nearly 15 year attempt: women, or really, girls, receive their reality. We do. We are not pushed forward to stake a claim on anything, nor to hunt anything down, but rather, we are instructed, and we often "wait" for others to come to us with "it", whatever "it" may be. What does this do? Well, we spend the rest of our lives, doing just that: waiting. For what? We barely probably know, but we're pretty sure it's all gonna get solved when it arrives. Or when we're told. Or, when someone makes the choice for us. We are lost unless someone tells us what it's all about. If this is what it means to be a princess, you can have it. And you can bite it, too.
Men determine their reality. Even if they have to accept certain parts of it, nothing, at all, about them, waits at home for it. Or waits on the sidelines for it. Or, waits until the girl arrives, to share it with them. Or has someone else make the choice for them.
It is completely psychotic to instill in another human being that A) they shouldn't take risks cause there are somethings they just might not recover from. How is this learned? By preventing girls from scaling jungle gyms at the age of 2. Don't laugh, and don't deny it, people. It also comes from judging their choices. B) That for whatever reason, they cannot make a wise decision on their own, and will always, always require other's input - usually, unsound input - to make a choice. It's not that more people equals more wisdom; it's that we don't know how to think. We've never had the opportunity. We're used to others doing it for us. By this token, democratic processes are inherently the feminization of politics, and I would argue, it's both the saving grace and the wrecking ball of civilization. But that's another discussion for another day.
So, I'm challenging myself:
What am I going to do about it?
Because I can't change anything else unless I change myself, first.
What's the plan, Jess?
And more importantly, what's your first step?
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