A goal of mine in this lifetime is to live by the seasons. I don’t just mean taking advantage of the summer dog days with weekly kayak outings or making instant hot cocoa to serve with every winter snow storm. I don’t exactly mean a yearly trip to the pumpkin patch or taking advantage of that mind-blowing Labor Day sale to stock my closet. I don’t mean boxes of decorations that are revisited and repacked for each ambiguous holiday or partaking in all of the seasonal snack cakes on the grocery store displays (although I might occasionally fall for their sentimental seduction once an equinox).
I desire a deeper connection than the media-promoted, mass produced, typical traditions humans do to conquer boredom, pass the time, and make the same old memories only another year older. Quite frankly, I could live without them. I’m not a fan of wonted participation that’s not otherwise enriching my experience here. This doesn’t always make my life easy, as I’m often trying to conceal my internal “meh” attitude for basic attractions and cookie-cutter events year after year. I require excitement and crave variety, logically instilled by my ever-changing lifestyle and surroundings when I was very young. I’m repulsed by mundane tasks that don’t uplift me or cater to my creative heart, a preference that anyone could guess doesn’t marry well with corporate office jobs starched with regulations and repetitive, domestic routines. God bless E for somehow putting up with my laxity and negligence for all that daily stuff, I must have something else going for me.
I have an innate attraction to Nature, and I don’t mean that I think it looks really pretty out the window. I desire to dig my toes into the soil, lay my face on the grass to experience its scent and the perspective of the dandelions and insects. I love to hold the hands of pine trees as I’m walking by, observing the wide variety of species along one forest trail with both my eyes and my fingers by feeling the direction and texture of the needles… who thought the touch of a blue spruce would be so soft?
I especially love looking at the ground as I’m walking over fields, prairies or meadows and counting all the different types of tiny plant life that makes up the Picasso-esqe landscape from far away. I’ll hover over the tiniest flowers to inspect the majestic geometry within, proving the perfection Nature effortlessly creates. I don’t mind when my clothes are permeated with campfire smoke for days if it means I get to feel its heat on my face and the icy chill of the deep woods on my back, sitting in quiet and cautious observance of the humming and echoes of Nature’s black slumber.
I long to fill my life with meaningful traditions that honor the gifts we’re granted every season; the holly of winter, the first flowers of spring, the fallen leaves and the fruit of summer. That’s what I really want, a life as flexible as the timing of these events, to celebrate when the Earth does, how the Earth does and with the Earth.
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I sometimes feel out of place. Like a runt or some adopted offspring that doesn’t quite look and act the same as my auspicious siblings. Never the less, the family grows accustomed and its one of those unspoken things. Not that in actuality my human family fits in any better. Sometimes I think we’re all a bunch of misfits, at least while living in America that is. I haven’t travelled abroad, but I have a feeling it will be very eye opening and I might just find solace that tradition is all relative, and there’s actually a lot of different, acceptably weird ways to be. That’s what I want to believe.
I feel like as I grow up my world has grown much smaller. That’s likely due to the routines, the scheduling and basic lack of surprises I encounter on the daily. I’m familiar with all my responsibilities, my people, my surroundings, my plans and nothing feels new. This might resonate with a lot of people right now that are also working from home in the midst of the pandemic. But even when I had a daily commute, and regular outings outside of the house I seeked out the neoteric as much as I could – in the different colors of the sky that evening or the music emanating from my car radio. I love shopping for new things and meeting new people and even more so, meeting new kinds of people. Maybe, if I’m being really honest here, its just for an inner validation that its okay to be me.
I’m not sure I’ll ever get the type of validation I often desire so desperately. I feel its like when you feel bad about a physical feature, and you finally get a compliment on it. That area of yourself gets a confidence boost, but it doesn’t heal your bad self-esteem. I don’t think I have that literal issue right now, however. I love myself and I’m not afraid to admit that. I don’t think of anyone holding back on stating that for themselves as humble. I think self love is the root of all love, and if you cut off the source, it’s no longer pumping through your veins.
I do however, have insecurities with my place in this world. I feel a deep calling to my creative pursuits but I don’t know how that fits in with the rest of my life just yet. I don’t know how to balance my thirst for adventure and newness with a backlog of humdrum tasks. I have found some guidance over the years that have brought some resolve and reasonable options for tuning into nature from behind a desk, such as following the Moon signs. Learning more about the effects her pull has on the earth and myself has helped me find pieces of feminine freedom in a man-made world and feel a true connection to the vast universe our planet is flying through.
A big part of my aforementioned issue is my connection with femininity. I was raised with my dad and brother mostly, so as a little girl I was one of the guys. I can throw a spiral football like no body’s business and was eager to rise with scraped knees from a stumbling foot race or learn how to clean a fish. My dad did a good job of making me feel equal in that way and he also adhered to no stereotypes himself. My father was the most sensitive father a little girl could ask for, who never tried too hard to hold back a tear inspired by sorrow or beauty. He’s the one that taught me to look at all the little glorious things around me and appreciate them with a curious and open heart. If it weren’t for knowing my father’s natural empathy and kindness, I might think entirely differently of men, but alas, he has forever opened my mind to the goodness of a person, no matter their physical attributes.
I was confused as an adolescent too, however. I think that might have been when this soul searching started. When I was young I had a temper. When provoked, the dimple between my furrowed brows would resemble horns and my icy glare froze everything in my path. My roar could be heard for miles and loved ones cowered in terror of my two-faced alter ego. It’s not like I was cruel or mean-hearted by nature. As a little lioness, a summer baby, I radiated love like the warmth of the sun and boasted an optimistic exuberance for life… only I couldn’t always control the dial. The passion burning inside me occasionally met kerosene, resulting in 10 foot tall flames, tears, and baffled parents that didn’t know how to control the burn.
My mother would try and appease my wrath with offerings of Tension Tamer tea in hopes I’d favor the gesture and aim my fire balls in a different direction. Like Bruce Banner, I would simmer down and morph back into the quiet, blue eyed angel with the natural resting smile on her lips. She should probably let E in on some of her tips one day to save him some 3rd degree burns from me. 13 years married isn’t too late to still learn new tricks for self preservation right?
As I grew a little older, I don’t recall being particularly drawn to pink and baby dolls (at least for very long) but regardless I was taught to be a lady. My grandparents’ early influence on my brother and I was positioned with patriarchal projections that bought me a front row seat to table setting and trinket dusting. Despite my mother and father’s lack of appreciation for their values and lifestyle, there was no denying the safety of their supervision, especially when the free hourly rate was hard to beat. I was drawn to my Mammy’s campy personality and her innocent humor and enthusiasm. I, like her, learned to ignore my Ganddaddy’s demeaning comments towards a woman’s role and responsibilities, which seemed to translate to every household task related to caretaking and hospitality. He had his role to be catered to and she humbly fulfilled it. It wasn’t till years later that I began to notice the hesitation in her once-unwavering responses and a heated resentment filling the silences between them.
I too am feeling that fire grow in me with age. It was dampened for a while. I felt it shrink when I started puberty and began the self-fulfilling prophecy of doubt and insecurity and not-enough-ness. But I had a few years as a teen where I felt like the shit. I had a couple close friends and was considered “cool”. I was confident and inspired enough to write spoken word poetry and perform at the local coffee shop with high regard. Those days feel short lived when I look back and are now hard to relate to. I often wonder why.
I also often feel like there’s a war waging within me and somehow I’m on the frontline of both sides. Actually, its more like four different wars- one army is filled with strength, confidence and fire, going against a watery, gentle and creative battalion. The other fight is women versus men, but that quarrel has had a slower development, I’ll admit. If it weren’t for my father’s influence its likely my arms would have been raised sooner, protecting my natural-born characteristics and basic existence of being a woman, knowing how many are treated with cruelty around the world and have been since the beginning of history due to these innocent facts.
The world we live in is both beautiful and appalling. I’m learning the latter with age more so than from my childhood and I am eternally and unspeakably grateful for that. Finding my confidence as a woman without the callouses of mistreatment has also been difficult though. I’m learning quietly (as most is unspoken) of the double standards women face every day, but mostly on the rungs of the corporate ladder I’ve climbed. I’m not one that men have tried to help get ahead as long as they can look up my skirt, but I have felt subdued by my personality traits such as patience, compassion and kindness and my physical traits when I dress differently than expected or don’t have makeup on for a meeting. “Um, yeah…. sure. We can turn our cameras off…..” (say what?!)
I’ll admit I’m a bit of a people pleaser and have definitely suffered from imposter syndrome, but I’m witnessing men with those same issues work their way up 3 times quicker than I did, with half of the existing skills. Was this because of confidence only? I’m not convinced otherwise, as I have women on my team overlooked for the same role as him that have expressed equal, if not more, drive and competency than their male competition. This isn’t where all of my conflicts with the corporate world grow from, but its been a healthy incubator.
I got where I am as a people manager in a modern call center over 5 years of professionalism, a desire to learn, applying things quickly and working well with others, plus a little natural brilliance if I say so myself (since no one else will say that for me). I don’t have any college degrees or experience to speak to, no previous management experience or a long track record of relevant roles. I think I’ve done pretty well for myself at 28 and I’m proud of how well I do at my job, however, months of dry spells for professional feedback and reassurance from anyone at all takes its toll. Once again as I’m writing this I’m recognizing how big of a gravitational pull I let my day job suck me into, which often makes it feel like the center of my universe. In all reality its the thing in my life that makes me the least happy. Let’s talk about something else now.
Sometimes its feels like double standards are swirling all around me. I’ll feel like Dorothy and the Wicked Witch getting whisked up in the same tornado, each taking turns rotating in and out of frame. Women have to bend over backwards to be considered likeable, successful, attractive, and have to fight for our right to be emotional, assertive and powerful. And we’re expected to be natural caretakers, birth-givers, and eye-candy. While the world has undoubtedly made significant progress over that last couple centuries for women’s right’s, men are still intrinsically raised in a world where they have all the options, all the privileges, and all the power to do what they want to. As a woman, its hard to not get heated about that thought. Its hard to not feel unequal when comparing the two existences.
I feel a power within me. Albeit mysterious, its presence is smoldering inside like a hot coal, keeping my engine warm but not quite revving. I feel this power rising when I’m connecting with the Moon, the earth, and when I’m naturally communing with creativity. It flutters my heart, shakes my bones and electrifies my fingertips. I feel powerful as a woman, yet I still feel held back by restraints of these expectations and how I’m supposed to present myself in this world. Insecurities about what I should be and what I could be are limiting my free spirit in the current phase of my life and I know I have to break through and practice the forward way of thinking I wish for the world on myself first.
This is easier said than done, as I feel like the true me now exist under innumerable layers of dead skin and the shedding process for each one is long and painful. I’ve gone through so many of these growth or “shedding” phases in my twenties that I was not expecting. No one warns you about second or third puberty, well after you’re 12 year old menstruals (or manstruals I must include) and the various phases of personal and emotional growth that occurs when you’re on your own being independent. Maybe parents avoid that topic so their kids are still inclined to move out and run off when their 18 with only ideas of dream-catching ahead, not mental breakdowns and break throughs. Maybe that part of life is just a given?
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Its winter now, and while I’m not partaking in as many seasonal practices as I’d like and dream about for later in my life; afternoon walks through snowy woods, yule logs and lots of quiet creating, I acknowledge that its the time of year for introversion, reflection and metamorphosis. One activity I love any time of year and make an effort to pursue when my heart is yearning is a visit to the local butterfly pavilion. I get humbled and inspired by their dazzling colors in all shapes and sizes and how they carry themselves effortlessly through the air, seeking sweetness to fill them up yet are no longer weighted down by the transformative cocoon that made them into the marvelous creatures they are.
I relate to the butterfly quite a bit. The journey of their lifespan is a metaphor I can dive into and use to articulate so many emotions in volatile phases of my life. The funny thing is, thinking back I’ve been in the chrysalis phase for quite some time, brewing and brooding over the strengths I need to accomplish and tasks I need to achieve before I become a “real woman” – a respected and capable woman that achieves all of her goals and isn’t limited by modern day (double) standards.
What if men and women are actually meant to be different and embrace their opposite characteristics from each other instead of fighting against them? Does yin and yang exhibit mutual respect or is the duality polarizing and deflecting? I think they need each other just as they are in order to fully exist and that’s what makes them whole. Not only men and women cooperating separately, but also with balancing the feminine and masculine qualities we possess within ourselves.
I’ve too long believed that women need to be more like men to be strong, capable and successful and surrender the feminine qualities classified as “weakness”. But I realize now, the qualities I possess; the sensitivity, the wonderment, the intuition (but I also often tend to distain) are what makes me a true woman and a powerful woman if I let myself believe it. Stepping into those shoes has honestly frightened me more than the thought of pretending to be a man ever has. I think that’s because as I seek connection to the feminine side of existence through nature, I’m continually bewildered by the level of awe it injects me with, and I always feel thoroughly warmed-through and basted with magic.
I think after all these years I’m still in my cocoon, and I’m not sure what I’m supposed to come out the other side as, but I do know the Moon will continue to help me with the ebbs and flows of the daily energies here on earth. Pushing through corporate barriers until I’ve decided I’ve done enough will teach me discipline and self validation. The times of loss and grief I’ve experienced in my young adulthood will help me establish resilience for the future battles I’ll face on a different path as a creative, and towards living my most connected, appreciative, and curious life. I’m not exactly sure what I’m becoming, but I know I’m starting to wake up and I can’t wait to see my wings.
