Saturday, March 12, 2011
Combat boots and a Prom Dress
Right, so... you know, I blog in spurts... something comes up that I want to participate in, or something exciting happens in my world, or I'm feeling really closed off and need to reach out, or I just want to share what is making me happy... I'm trying to be better about blogging regulalry, but I'm finding this virtual world sometimes just makes me downright cranky. I'm the kind of girl who believes in things... when you tell me something, I believe you. I'm a trusting sort, and I keep my filters pretty low. I like to believe the best of people, even when they are determined to present anything but. But I'm getting tired. I'm tired of people who always need to be the center of attention. I'm tired of people who think that talking about their problems is a better idea than doing something about them. I'm tired of wanting more for you than you want for yourself... So I've got this image in my head, because I've been doing some real thinking about the idea of being a girl, and where I've gotten to is that princesses stink. The world doesn't owe you anything, a man isn't going to magically make everything better, and the only happily ever after waiting for you has your name carved in stone. As girls, we're taught to be nice, to be compliant, pliable. We multi-task constantly and define ourselves by what we don't have and who we aren't... we fail to see the team behind those super women (hello, Martha, Oprah) and think we are incapable of ever being good enough. We meet real life girls every day and fail to offer them support or praise... (and you know you want to, you just don't want to be weak or rejected...). As mothers and wives we maintain a front of plausible perfection so our children don't see the struggles of the adult world, and our peers don't know that we might not be able to pay the mortgage this month and we sleep in separate rooms. We create niceties but often fail to be nice. So I'm going to go out on a limb and say the hell with glass slippers... I want combat boots. Life is messy and hard and you need to be able to kick down a few doors without being worried about slicing your toes to ribbons, thereby making you even more helpless than the already imposed perception. I want to be able to climb mountains, not be carried up them. I want to have you there with me, sharing in the joys and hardships of the journey, not telling me about this or that drama (that by the way, You allow). I love to share in your creations, watching you grow and develop. I love that you come to see the same in me. So... c'mon, you can wear the prettiest pink dress with lace and ruffles and underskirts and what ever... but ffs, put your combat boots on...' kay?