Okay, so it's time to move off the lookin'-for-love dime...

Today, I've awakened with the notion of being a woman on my mind.  I should say, at the outset, that I am a feminist.  That word gets a very bad wrap, but Miriam Webster defines feminism as "the theory of the political, economic, and social equality of the sexes".   Sounds right to me.

I am not, however, anti-male. I've just never understood the reasoning behind making whole groups of humans subservient to other (often much smaller) groups.  It's why the idea of going to a typical job is so horrific for me.  I fully understand what the folks at the top of the hierarchy get out of it, but I find it hard to lend my support to a system of living that encourages such a thing.  Besides, I belong to a few groups that reside on the bottom of things.

I was reading DelSolFan's  blog (Married Couple Buys Car) yesterday and laughed out loud because being a woman often means being invisible, being considered last (considering yourself last), lower pay, denied access, and that's just the nameless societal stuff with which we U.S. ladies must contend. Don't get me started on the burdens of being female in other parts of the world.

Personally, I do this little trick of mind, where I ignore the funk.  I speak whether I am expected to or not, laugh loudly, if that's what I feel like doing, and pretty much decide that the funk will not get inside (at least not any deeper than it has already).  I Love reading blogs of female students (Jaime's I Want to Tell You) and those early in their careers.  There is an innocence and freedom, a sense of full and complete possibility that I hope lasts.

And that's what it's all about - possibility.  Creating them for ourselves and battling the world around us should it try to get in our way.  Possibility is the seed of reality, the smaller your realm of possibility the smaller your chances for joy, love, and anything else you desire.

It's a bit of a mystery for me how the external and the internal worlds collide to create the lives we end up living.  I mean, possibility is connected to the mind, heart and soul of the individual.  It is also impacted by the external world of limitations and ignorance (not to mention well intended family and other loves).  We each search for the proper balance that might allow our souls to fly free, even if only briefly.

But in the midst of striving for this balance, my sister-girls and I bleed a river each month, push human heads out of our bodies and experience hormone swings that no measure of chocolate or wine can bring to an end. 

It begins when we are just about my daughter’s age.  Living with her has made it much clearer to me how influenced by our hormones we really are.

My once agreeable and eager child spends hours consumed by boredom or frustration from which I cannot wrangle her loose. Thrown carelessly across the couch she moans and sighs.  Questioning her exacerbates the tension; suggesting alternatives usually causes her to sling her arm over her eyes and announce that she doesn’t want to do anything.  Oh, where once there was a clear and level path between mother and child, I now find an unpaved road strewn with rocks and rubble, upon which I frequently stub my toes.

Friends tell me it will get worse before it gets better – maybe.  Somehow, I don’t worry about her; she listens much more to the beam of possibility that runs through her Life than to those external voices demanding her attention.  If there is one mommy-thing of which I am proud, it is getting her to hear her voice above the clamor of others.  As for the oncoming adolescent insanity, I guess I can live through it, knowing it won’t last forever.

She waxes and I wane.  Menopause has begun to parade through my body.  Sagging parts that seemed to stand much higher just a year or two ago (okay, now I really have to get on the ski machine that I love to hate so much!), grey hairs – on my chin, and an injury to my shoulder that won’t seem to heal.  How do I keep these things from limiting my possibility?

Then there is living in a culture that does not value age; has no sense that age holds learning or experience, that it is still full of Life and eager to contribute, a culture that has no / little respect for those who have gone before.

Because I look a bit younger than my years, I've had a few young folk (30’s) think of me as ‘about my age, maybe a little older” (which I’m guessing means 40).  They've made the mistake of telling a joke at the expense of some other older women; someone over 55 attempting to look younger, to display her sexuality or to hide the gray that creeps back in-between hair appointments.  I usually reprimand the 30-somethings, telling them I am about the same age as their joke’s main character and they should be so lucky as to get where we are; unless I start to feel sad, then, I just walk away.   Somedays, our willingness to be brutal and cruel is too much for me.

The reality of menopause and aging is biological, the way western culture defines mature women as useless and asexual, is illogical.  We are so alive, so vibrant; ready to explore new life chapters as the pages of our lives turn.

I typed we, having realized, just in the past year or so, that I am a part of this group.  Wow, I’m an older black woman!  When did that happen? Now, I have a new way of recognizing myself that requires I come to terms with all the external baggage that comes with it. 

For today, at least, I am open to my Life’s possibilities; to the possibility of seeing more of this planet and its peoples, of creating more justice and peace on it, of sharing Love with someone who knows and desires me from the inside out, of eventually leaving this world just a tiny bit better for my having lived.

Keep the possibilities out front, let the rest fall behind.  Take it light…

This ain't no rap song, this is my life...                      

Young Jeezy, Soul Survivor                          

On and off, for the past 10 months, I've been doing the online dating thing; about which I feel very ambivalent.  On the one hand, I am hopeful, on the other, I would prefer to meet someone the old fashioned way.  You know, through a friend, at a party, a bar, a club... But, as a friend asked me a couple of months ago "So, how's that been working for you?  Met someone, yet?"

Ha, ha,ha.  And, I realize that the 'old fashioned way' is especially unlikely since I no longer go to bars or clubs, and my friends don't throw parties like they used to.  Which leaves an introduction, and so far, none of my dear friends have come through for me.

Anyway, online dating is counter intuitive for me.  There's only the barest of connecting and then, poof! The person is either completely enamored with you or drops out of sight. I'm not interested in either extreme, really.  And I think it speaks to the mindset of many online daters.  It's a quick fix kind of connection.  It eases the sense of isolation,  creates a false intimacy - if it reads like love, makes me forget how lonely I can get and tells a good joke every now and then, then it must be love, n'est pas?

Not quite, because then there is the agonizing meeting at the coffee shop/ restaurant/ cafe/ bookstore/ miniature golf course - oh stop the world, I want to get off!  And though I really do try to make the best of it, I have lived the movie scene where the character runs through the absolute worst-of-the-worst dates. 

I've met the man who was looking for the love of his life because the x-love of his  life left him for a woman and took his 8 year old daughter (the real Love of his life) with her.  Six months ago.  But, he was fine and, according to him, he was ready to start anew.  Right, unh hunh, sure.

Or the gentleman who was a bit reserved, but seemed nice.  We actually went out 3 or 4 times.  Then, I planned a very special evening for us, out of the blue, just to let him know I thought he was special.  An evening of dinner and jazz, great conversation, a chance to get closer when we got back to my home (you know the deal).  Only the whole evening was flat.  Like there's some sort of strange heaviness in the air that you can almost see and that you can most definitely feel.  By the evenings end, I said good night at the door, with an extremely chaste kiss, and felt completely out of balance.  Was I too old after all?  Did I smell?  Say the wrong thing?  Achk!  I hate this stuff.

He called about a week-and-a-half later and mentioned (in an off-handed way) that his father had died a year ago, on the night we went out.  Oh, I thought, okay.  I told him how I had tried to make it a special evening and that I now understood why he wasn't really into it.  "No", he responded, "I was fine.  I thought the evening was nice.  I wasn't thinking of my father at all.  I'm over that.  I only mentioned it because I ended up going to my mother's later that night and she wasn't doing to well"

E-gads!  How out of touch with your emotional life can you be.  Although they tell me that's the deal with you guys, I didn't quite know the extent to which emotions can be ignored; but I guess these gentlemen were living examples. 

Or, how about the Englishman who wooed me from across the pond and turned out to be an African looking for safe passage into the US.  He used all kinds of intimacy tricks (sharing life dreams, music, stories of family and growing up).  I was really starting to like him and began trying to figure in my head how things might work.   When he started to talk about coming to the US, I googled his email address and found out lots of interesting (and contradictory) info about him.  When I questioned him about it he said "Yes, it's true.  I lied about my name, where I live and the other particulars about myself but, my feeling for you are real."  I kid you not - oh, that I wish I were just telling a joking...

And then there are the guys that only want to play, the hard core womanizers; the serial monogamists.  They are the most dangerous, I think.  The sincere gents who don't really want to get serious, but they like the idea of being in a relationship.  In fact, they need to be in a relationship - I get tired just thinking about it.

Now, lest I give the impression that all is right on this side of the boy/girl divide, I have got my stuff too. I am truly independent and find it difficult (really I am just completely unwilling) to feign otherwise.  I am not without my fears, but 8 times out of 10, I face them head-on.  Mostly, I am not afraid of being alone and that ain't good incentive for jumping into a relationship.

Then, there are the two ladies I live with - my 11 year-old daughter and my 80 year-old Mom.  I am squeezed in the middle of female giants - strong in my own right, but no match for the two of them.

And, some days are like today.  I am left to wonder what is the point of desire when so many circumstances work against its fulfillment?  I've been walking this road a long time; it's late in the afternoon hours and I don't know if there will be a soft bed, a low light and loving set of arms to hold me when I finally find my way home.

In real life, it's easier to pretend there will be a happy ending or to become resigned to an unavoidable fate of lonliness.  The hardest thing to do, it seems, is to stay in the grey (actually I like the idea of purple better) space; where it isn't either/or, but maybe.  Call me crazy but, I still believe that, in spite of its reticence, Love is truly just around the corner, feet propped up on a chair, book in hand, thinking "I gotta remember to call Gayle tomorrow". 

Yeah, call me crazy...