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Growing Our Girls – A moment on the soapbox

@rebeccagualdoni 2 Comments

It’s my little girl wonder’s birthday tomorrow. I thought it fitting to talk about growing a girl….

We are in a world in which our children can do anything. Be anything. As females, we have broken barriers in so many places. We are doctors, CEOs, lawyers, scientists, teachers, psychologists, chefs, coaches, mothers, engineers, artists, dancers, authors. We are present in every profession and at every rung of the career ladder. While we may not have reached full equality, yes those male counter parts still earn about 25% more than we do, we should stand proud at where we are in this moment.

What troubles me though is that in our fight for equality I see us now, as women, making judgments of ONE ANOTHER. We are the catalysts of are very own oppression. I hear it and see it all the time and it goes something like this…. A stay at home mom can’t possibly be teaching her child about striving in the professional world. A career woman is neglecting her duties as mother, wife, caregiver. A woman who can show empathy and emotion isn’t capable of being strong and decisive. A woman who is strong and decisive is cold and calculating. A beautiful woman can’t be smart. A women without children selfishly chose career over family. If we dress too feminine, then we are unprofessional. If we dress conservatively, we are trying too hard to hide our femininity. If we are executives we can’t be domestic. The list goes on and on. We judge and we judge and we judge and the limiting boxes we put each other in multiply and multiply. What is worse than all of this, is that we are teaching our daughters to do the same. They are already closing their minds, creating their own mental boxes of what should “be” what is “right”, what is “possible”. You think you aren’t doing this, that you can’t possibly be raising your child in this way? We need only listen to their words as they comment about how someone dresses, or how this girl spends her time, or what that girls likes to do. We need only watch them as their eyes take everything in and they begin to decide what goes where. WE are growing these girls. We are doing this together. Let’s teach them acceptance and the art of possible. Let’s open their minds. The road is built. Let’s give them a good map. Judge less. Love more.

The Undoing of Our Memories

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I used to have a great memory. Never had to write anything down. Could remember what we talked about, what music was on, what you wore, where we were at, what we ate, how you smelled. Not anymore. On a good day, I might get one of things on the list right. My memory is completely shot. Virtually nothing sticks. Doesn’t matter the topic, deep and meaningful to the mundane. It slides right off me. If you tell me this is all part of getting older, I’m going to refuse to accept that. This isn’t about age….

Memories, the kind that take root and attach themselves are the ones where you are fully present, alive, tuned in, nerve endings tingling all the way to the surface, feeling and feeling. These are the snippets of life that when close your eyes to recall them you are instantly right back in that moment. The memories sinking deeper into your life fabric each and every time you share the story.

So, what happened? We’ve replaced living with recording. We interrupt every moment. Snap picture, text, post, like, comment, tweet, rinse, repeat…. Our memories don’t have a chance. Before they can even grab hold we systematically reduce them to a fleeting string of letters, hashtags and emoticons. Here and gone. Here and gone.

And if we aren’t interrupting our own living with all of this recording then we are letting the recording of our 473 social media friends and followers do this on our behalf. Meaningful glances are being broken, conversation are being aborted and tiny moments are quietly walking away unnoticed. Here and gone. Here and gone. What’s worse if that If we aren’t looking at our screens then we are thinking about looking. Wondering who tweeted what, did Facebook friend number 382 like my photo? Why didn’t they like my photo? WHEN ARE THEY GOING TO LIKE MY PHOTO????!!!!????

Our memories are being further undone because we’ve stopped story telling. We post so many things on social media that by the time we actually get a chance to have a real conversation there is nothing to talk about. We already “know” because we saw it on line. We read it, re-tweeted liked and hashtagged. Here and gone.

As for me? Guilty as charged. Even as I sit here writing this, I’ve checked my phone at least 10 times. It’s barely 6:00 a.m. NOTHING is happening, and yet…..

As for me? I’m going to try to get back to some living. HERE AND HERE.

The Dragonfly

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When you are sharing space with someone that already knows how their story will end you learn a little bit about what it means to prepare to die.  This preparation takes many forms and awkwardly stands beside the mundaneness of just living the moment that you have today.  As you might imagine there are letters to be written and meaningful gifts to be bought that will have their place with the people that get to go on living. My friend is dying. Her preparation, not unlike her, has been unique and beautiful….she got tattoos. This was not one of those throw caution to the wind decisions to live out an unrealized dream of her youth. Oh no, it was so much deeper than that.  For the people in her life that have loved her and touched her in ways that know no depth, she picked tattoos to represent each of them.  These tattoos are beautifully displayed on her right arm, one of the only parts of her body where she felt as if she still owned the rights to her own bodily real estate. One of the only places where she could look and see what she was before the cancer unpacked it’s bags and moved in. She graciously gave up this space for all of us that love her.

I remember her telling me about the tattoo that she would get for me.  It was that of a dragonfly.  I didn’t understand why she picked this symbol. We had never spoken of dragonflies. I had never expressed an interest in them. Yet this was her choice. She shared the meaning with me as we sat at a table eating a simple meal in a simple place. In hindsight, it was the perfect backdrop. There was nothing to distract me from this moment and with perfect clarity I saw myself through her eyes.

The dragon fly has many meanings….”symbolizes change, self realization, and the understanding of the deeper meaning of life”. In that same moment, I saw myself in a way I hadn’t looked at myself in quite some time and I was reminded that I had let my life get so cluttered that I had stopped allowing myself the time to be still, to really think, to really consider and to write.

With this reminder in my head, I carried on about the business of living my congested life. I had changed nothing. A few months after she shared the gift of the dragonfly with me, I was letting myself into my room at a hotel where I was staying. Just outside my room, there was a picture of a dragonfly. I stared and stared at it. I believe in fate, things don’t just happen by chance. Here was the Universe giving me a gentle nudge. I took out my phone and snapped a picture of the dragonfly. It’s been 8 months since I took that picture, and with the start of this blog, I finally figured out what it means. There I am reflected in the image of that dragonfly. THERE. I. AM.

dragonfly

http://www.dragonfly-site.com/meaning-symbolize.html

The Space Between

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Many years ago, my life was in a much different spot than it is today.  Let’s just say, it wasn’t my best time and leave it at that.  I remember those days of waking up after a fitful sleep and for just one heartbeat, maybe two, I would forget where my life was and I would experience a momentary reprieve.  I used to call this time the space between. That moment between sleep and wakefulness where your mind is open and blank.  Recently, my friend who has terminal cancer described this very same thing to me.  That moment each morning when she forgets that she is dying.  She too called it the space between.  I wrote this for her and for me…..

The Space Between

The wisps of the dream were gauzy and light.  Flitting, dancing around the edges of conscious.  Bliss and peace and calm and goodness and breathing…Grace and floating and light and freedom…and breathing, and breathing…Just a heartbeat, maybe two. A small space between here and there.  Just a heartbeat and then there was here.  It had been sitting quietly in the corner allowing this moment.  But it had no intention of being still.  It never did. She tried to hold on, to tighten her grasp. But this was bigger, so much bigger.  Breathe…And there it was. Crashing and storming and blinding and hot. There it was.  There it was.