Once upon a time there was a girl. She prided herself on not being like the other girls, not realizing that that was just internalizing the misogyny around her. It's a point of pride to not be girly? But you see the predicament. No one likes to be put in a box and told how she is, particularly when she doesn't feel it. It's actually easier to see the box that way, but you're still dealing with the definitions imposed by the people doing the sorting.
So this girl grew up knowing that there was a lot of bullshit in the world. Not only from the usual suspects of entrenched power, but also from those who one would think would know better, would be an ally. Why she always saw things in these extremes is a good question. The world, and people, are always more complicated than you first think.
First hurdle is to understand the problem, which is harder for some than others, but then comes dealing with it. This girl dealt with it by stepping away from the heart of it and trying to stay separate, trying to define herself apart from it while still trying to take what pride she could from the difference, even if it was a facade with a weak foundation. It's all working with what others give you, abstract symbols created by others.
But not too long ago the girl considered whether there was some freedom in the purposeful use of these symbols. So why was that necessarily bad? Maybe because these early usages were not purposeful, but part of a rejection, an act of running away. One escapes the box only by leaving it behind entirely. But that means some of the good things in the box become inaccessible, or at least hard to get to. And if you escape the box with nothing, how do you even get into the other boxes to pick and choose from their contents?
Why does the girl think in terms of cardboard boxes in a white room? That's beyond abstraction to absurd oversimplification.
Once upon a time there was a girl who learned early on to empathize with characters in books, to feel their story with them, but who found it so much harder to understand the real people around her. She wasn't emotionless, she didn't see real people as cardboard, she just didn't really think about them that much because she was concerned with other things. Is that true?
Once upon a time there was a girl who developed cynicism early. Was it because the outside world wasn't as neat and tidy as the world of fiction? Was it because she learned through fiction that everyone had an agenda or just that life wasn't fair? Was it something learned from her surroundings? Was she naturally inclined to that? Or is it another function of the distancing? Did she really feel removed from the first person from childhood, or can she just not remember now what it was like?
Once upon a time there was a girl who was tentative, lacking confidence in herself, in the rightness of her actions. She was a girl much loved, appreciated, who never had to question her worth in the eyes of the adults around her as she did her peers. Why should such a girl be so tentative? Was it something that happened or an outgrowth of her natural inclinations? Just like everyone else, the girl became good at some things. She had confidence in her abilities to do some things, but it never translated over to confidence in just being herself. This life-long identity crisis stemming from never feeling certain of an identity to begin with?
But that's too simple. Surely early on she felt like herself. This questioning is a function of adolescence. So maybe the lack of self-confidence came later, and she just doesn't remember it. How did it happen and why does it persist into early middle age?
She had never lived the unexamined life, but what they don't tell you about that idea is that said examination is not the solution to anything, it's just a step. And sometimes it's a misstep because you examine the wrong things or come up with the wrong solution to the perceived problem. Step one is to think it through, but step two gets dicey.
Her common theme seems to be lack of solidity (which is kind of funny for the extreme contrast with her very solid physical existence). Part of it is not knowing what she wants to do with her life, never having had a goal/plan/desire that felt close to all-encompassing. Part of it is the struggle with what is expected, what is assumed, even by those closest. Part of it is a desire to not become static, to always remain open to new things/ideas/possibilities. It's all of a piece assuredly, but how does that help her? Does this mix of traits necessitate this constant dance? Or is the dance a lie she tells herself?
Is it possible she clings to this idea of the lack of solidity as an excuse for her lack of -- not advancement, but -- success maybe? Progress? Maybe her insides really are like her outsides, slow moving, solid as a rock, slow to change, unlikely to let go, unmoved, placid.
This is what lack of commitment feels like, she would say to all the sitcom men who were ultimately amateurs at the process. You want to sleep around and not commit to a relationship? Big fucking deal. I can't even commit to being me. I can't commit to a life plan of any sort. I can't commit to an understanding of what I really want from life. I can't commit to the idea of committing. Go back to school, son.
Do I want a place to stand that doesn't move or do I want eternal change? Do I want to stand in a room and yell, "Hey, I'm here" to whoever will listen or do I want to continue creeping around the edges and seeing how many people I can fool into thinking I'm not even there? How much of all of this is rank cowardice? That's a question that haunts me. The thought that everything I do, everything I am is a reaction to fear of some kind is unacceptable. But maybe it's true. What the hell do I do with that?
Do I keep to myself because that's what I desire, because it's what I need to be happy, or because I'm scared to A, fail, or B, open myself up enough to another person to make a partnership work? I honestly don't know, and it's not like I haven't thought about it. How much of that decision is tied to my second wave ideas of men/women, to my existential feeling that no other person ever actually sees you as as much of a person as he/she is? How much of it is a decision or a choice?
I guess we all start wondering what we're missing at some point, what will be those big regrets at the end of everything, but -- it's all tied up into the idea of giving up and letting them win. Giving up what and letting who win? In attempting to stay back from the fray and define myself for myself, how much is still dependent on some nebulous they and how they view things? And how much of this right here is just posturing and not truth?
Once upon a time there was a girl who couldn't tell when she was lying to herself or when she was telling the truth. There was no nose changes, no helpful twitches or truth-containing dreams. It was all so nebulous. Maybe she knows herself and it's only lack of confidence or neurosis that leads her to question her own hard-won wisdom. It's so easy to discount it if it's coming only from her. Yet what do other people know anyway? They're right when they say bad things about her, wrong when they say good. What about her?
Once upon a time there was a girl who could rarely tell when she was happy, who didn't know the difference between contentment and complacency, who through physical detachment came to be even more emotionally detached. Once there was a girl who worried about being a Vulcan, while also taking pride in her intellectualism overriding her emotions, who never gave in as a point of pride. This girl would look at Hollywood girls as wimps. You ever notice how the smart girl always had to learn to be dumber? All in the name of not locking away her more emotional/passionate self? Aside from the self-serving -- seriously!? -- nature of it, all could agree that those nerds needed to let loose and maybe do stupid stuff -- more likely do stupid boys -- to be a well-rounded person. Never once could one remain as she was. And all would likely agree she was not well-rounded, even if some would argue the need to tie it all in to becoming more conventionally attractive and finding a boyfriend.
Hah! Once there was a girl who wondered if it was just her who was able to withstand hormonal drives while making choices. She felt it then, she did. She had a crush once that was so intense it took almost all of her brain over, yet she didn't give into it because the guy was so not a good choice. You never see that story. It's all about sometimes needing to make those kind of mistakes. The girl wonders sometimes if they have a point beyond the straight male agenda.
Once upon a time there was a girl who failed in one of the only arenas she had ever had pride of self in. The girl fell so hard, when she crawled back up, she was another person. She still doesn't know if this made her stronger or weaker, but maybe long-term, it was stronger. The girl can no longer remember what was so different, whether the fall just brought out things more clearly or whether it was a total shock. There's been almost a decade now to smooth over the bumps.
Once upon a time there was a girl who finally learned something new about being a teen girl -- from a gay man who got it more than she ever did, who seemed to understand what was going all under the surface of all those popular girls, mean girls, let's face it most all other girls that were never who she wanted to be. She started to really understand all that she had disdained. Even if she was really still mostly a Dan Humphrey about it all. She even felt some nostalgia for something she never experienced in the first place.
Once upon a time there was a girl who was proud of not being a man while at the same time gloried in all things that separated her from being a stereotypical woman. Her role models were intellectual men, or any men who at least seemed to accept women as persons. Later they became, and remain somewhat, middle aged women who fought/fight the power. Iconoclasts and eccentrics who didn't follow traditional womanly paths. And she became one of them. So there's that. She got what she wanted there. But she wonders if she focused on the whole picture or just parts of it. She suspects that one needs more integration after the initial separation or you're back to accepting the world of the boxes, the unacceptable.
Yet the girl knows that if only through indifference or insouciance, she has not been so iconoclastic or eccentric. At least, not on the surface. It goes back to perspective. Is being enough, or does one need to express externally? I wouldn't have had those role models if they had been as hidden as I am from the world
Once upon a time there was a girl who would pick and choose what to focus on and what to ignore based on what made her feel best about herself. She knew she was not so different from anyone else that way. She felt most of life was self-serving indulgence. Can one be cynical and proactive?
Once upon a time there was a girl who didn't know how to end a rambling essay. So she gave up and just did it, realizing that it would lack closure to make it coherent, just like fucking life.
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