Salvaged words

What was I thinking of?

Walking with elegance. Flying, physical into the world.

The sinking feeling at a perceived lack of boyfriend. Musing that it is so clearly a father thing, more broadly a don’t-feel-secure-when-not-attached thing that may or may not (who cares?) come from a lack of stable (any…) parental relationship. No father, no mother, no family at all… not emotionally, not mentally. Thoughts of them are a blank.

But we narrativise our story, we put energy into beliefs about symbols. I do these things. Human beings are stupid – why be attached to the chassis? But we are. I am. But I can think. I can work to let these things slip away. I do not have to be Daddy’s girl. I do not have to feel alone in the dark. The mind. My mind. This version of reality viewing, seen from this angle. Chooses to.

And some time this summer I was without (anyone) and without daddy’s girl fear.

So tempting to create a story out of those moments. So tempting to believe that memory is real.

But those moments broke the pattern. Those moments were something new. Something worth turning into a story, if it helps, no? …No?

It is at these moments that I desire stories of women:

women who wanted to flee but fought instead, who were beset by doubts yet forged ahead, who drew themselves up into their powers.

I have seen the archetype masculinity, the impossible to achieve standard for men, but an alluring aspiration for me. I desire to be the hero: the one who leads, with bravery and courage and the heavy burdens those qualities bring. I desire to stand strong, to protect others in the shelter of my largeness, to create a path through unknown landscape, to expand outside perceived limits, to grow, change, move in my mightiness.

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