What day can do more to irritate me than Valentine's Day? It did. I was irritated by my son, by my work, by my friends, by the couple on the street who decided 10 FEET IN FRONT OF ME to practice their movie scene kiss and dip. I was even irritated that the snow was melting. I was irritated by my shovel, because I swear it looks like someone sawed off the handle. Shoveling felt like the equivalent of having someone short-sheet my bed. I was ruminating on these irritations while I was walking in to a concert venue. I had asked myself out on a date months ago to see one of my favorite groups, The Wailin' Jennys, who were performing on, none other than, V day in Greensboro. It's easy to get a good seat with a party of one, by the way. I felt triumphant when I purchased my tickets. But as V day arrived, my irritation was rising. Even the Jennys sort of irritated me. I mean, if one of them said "snuggle up to your sweetie for this song" one more time I thought I might have to leave. Why didn't they just put the spotlight on me in the 3rd row, showing me in my singular seat with no one to either side. I couldn't hide if I wanted to.
...almost a month later, it's funny to read what's above. I mean, I think I'm kind of funny, which is a good thing since I'm always with myself. Seriously though, I was irritated around Valentine's Day. It was a wrestling match I suppose between my actual life and happiness, and what the (made up/fake) world tries to tell me around holidays about what is supposed to make me happy. But truly at my core, I am loving this part of my life. I feel actual delight everytime I turn the key to my home. Some sort of welcoming cloud greets me there, a cloud of myself and my family really. After 8 years it's nice to feel this cloud of a place that has developed out of new beginnings. It took a long time to create my own space, and to own the right to do so.
Surrounded on all sides, as we are, by the pressure of Hallmark holidays, being young, thin, and part of a couple, I seem to be finding my own definitions of happiness. The great and terrifying thing about right now is that it seems like just a beginning - and I'm officially middle-aged. It's hard not to wish I'd started long ago, but there's no use in that kind of regret. On the other hand, I think there's a grief about the past that has to be acknowledged and honored. The sage Carol Stoneburner talked about that as recently as last evening at a talk she gave with Adele Wayman (another sage). I was struck by the dialogue and dynamic between these two colleagues and friends once again. Carol, in her absolutely incredibly astute way, pointed out the "glow" in Adele's paintings. The image of the Adele painting I have in my living room appeared in my head as Carol talked about that. I was drawn to the "glow" in the painting the first time I saw it in Hege Library years ago. In this particular piece, the glow is buried in woods, through trees and some darkness. That glow is what beckoned to me when I first saw it. It captivated me. It called me forward, and still does. I couldn't name this phenomenon back then, but I was aware of the sudden immersion into a relationship with the piece. To hear Carol say "the glow in Adele's paintings are about the 'woman who is not yet'..." named it for me clearly last night. Carol also noted the grief she sees in Adele's work...(for women in particular), "...about what's left behind, and of not knowing what's coming." This is the grief-wash I'm in. At the same time that I feel tremendous joy and gratitude I also feel grief for time lost, not embracing or acknowledging myself, for missed opportunities. And then there's the not knowing what's coming next, at a point where factors of age, health, earning power, and more are coming into play in new ways.
I am so very late to the feminist party. I often feel like a middle-aged baby. Part of my grief is that I have known and been in proximity to Carol, Adele, Jane, Beth, Judy (John, Mel, Jerry) and others since I was a very young woman. I had access, but I didn't partake. As crazy as it sounds, I didn't know any of this was about me. So, last evening, I got another chance to take this all seriously; to do away with what doesn't matter, to make room for what does. To pay attention to the woman who is not yet.
Adele, so generous with stories about her own evolution, says that though it may appear that her journey as been orderly and planned, that it has not always been so. The pieces and fragments of life come together to create their own pattern. It seems that only when I look back, do I see a new and unique picture, or read a story that makes sense. I have done what I can with the materials available to me, and have been busy (often unconsciously) creating the art of myself. Such a product of southern, middle-class culture of being and staying invisible as a human being. It's such a giant hiding place, where women are encouraged-URGED to go. So while there may be grief, it is not uselful to indulge in regret. I could only be as "awake' as I was, I can only be as awake as I am. Waking up and giving credence to my own gifts is the playground now. With being awake comes irritation, right?! And maybe anger and rage. With knowing myself comes knowing what is and is not acceptable. Beyond the minor, daily, middle aged irritations of privilege (like teenagers drinking the half and half), comes my own "knowing" on so many levels. I want to "know what I know" and not be afraid to know it. I want to take risks of acting on what I know. I want to have courage to be prepared for how "knowing" only leads to a vast "unknowing." And then, there's the gratitude for having guides like Carol and Adele. Thank you Carol and Adele (and Beth, Mel, John, Jane and others) for pointing me to the "glow."
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