I Don't Eat Shit

Why do people keep giving me their shit to eat and then call me ungrateful when I tell them that I don't eat shit?
They serve it up on beautiful plates and expect me not to notice that what they've given me is not what I've asked for? The flowers on the table and the soft music playing in the background do not disguise what's actually being offered. I'm too old to pretend that I don't notice the smell.

You see when I was younger, I was content with make believe. I enjoyed taking mud from the yard and pretending it was a pie. It was fun draping a towel around my shoulders and pretending I was  Wonder Woman. But I'm much too old for that now.

Maybe that's it. Maybe I'm just growing cantankerous as I age because I'm tired of half-baked, mammy-made, broke down, second-hand versions of the truth. I'm just sick of sorry.

More than that, I'm tired of being told that my expectations are too high and that there is something wrong with wanting. It is not that I lack gratitude because I appreciate all that I have, but I need for the charade to stop.
There's no need to promise me the moon if you don't own real estate there.
Please don't share a golden dream with me if when I hold it to the light I see where the color is chipping off.

Just tell me the truth. Tell me what you can do. Nothing more, nothing less. Let me know your limits and your capabilities. Stop pretending like you can fly because when I run along beside you I'm going to expect you to soar. Long ago I learned how to fly and if you were honest with me, I would spread my wings and carry you along, too.

I learned so much from eating dirt and pretending like I was Wonder Woman.
I learned that dirt isn't shit although sometimes it looks the same.
And I learned that it wasn't Wonder Woman's cape that made her a superhero, it was her Lasso of Truth. Don't you remember that anyone held by the Lasso had to tell the absolute truth?

That's what I want.
To wrap you in my Lasso of Truth and hear for once what you can really do.
Not what you would do if "this were that" or if somehow things were different.
I want to sit at the table and if it is shit let's not pretend it's anything but that. Instead of eating it, let's come up with a plan on how to turn it into what we desire and then we can feast upon that.

Following My Own North Star

Like so many women I know where I want to go, but the path that leads there is unfamiliar. As I look at all of my options spread before me like cards on a dealers table, I'm almost afraid to choose one because of the consequences of choosing wrongly. There are just no easy answers, so sometimes I don't bother asking the questions. What's comforting is that I know I am not alone in this dilemma because all too frequently I hear other women express the same concerns.

Although the sky appears dark, I can see my North Star twinkling if I focus and look in the right direction. I know if I gaze upon it long enough the way will become clear to me. The challenge, however, is that in order to follow where my North Star leads, I must leave all that I know behind. 

Although there may be things I don't like about where I am, it is familiar. I know the location, the players, and the game. What will happen when I set out on the new adventure and it leads me to perilous places? Do I have what it takes to wade through murky waters and cross large expanses of barren land? Will I know how to communicate with others who seemingly speak an unknown tongue and will they embrace me although I am a foreigner?

What happens if the world is really flat and I fall off? Will all of the people who warned me that my dreams were too big cluck their teeth and whisper behind my back "that's what happens to women who forget their place."

Right now I can only gaze up at the night sky and imagine the worlds that await me. One day soon I will walk naked into the night toward my shining star. When it’s time to travel, I must listen carefully to the wind for the whispered directions from those who’ve set out on the journey before me. Surely they will tell me what lies ahead. And when I arrive at the place where my North Star leads, I will lay stones to commemorate the lessons I’ve learned along the way and the parts of my self that needed to die. Then I will begin sending word back to the women who are waiting to follow.