Am I a woman, yet? Of late I’ve been in this place of reminiscing where I’ve come from and how much I’ve grown over the last two years, and the thing that keeps surfacing is this question – Am I a woman yet?
I’m not sure why other than, perhaps I feel that as I look back on my life the last ten years, I can’t help but think how much of a child I was. Foolishly optimistic, innocent and playful. Even as I know that I’m still those things – there’s temperance, a stiffening of something around the edges. Does that mean I’m a woman now? I felt like a child then when I was married and I don’t feel that way anymore. Mostly. Does that mean that when I love again, I’ll love like a woman loves? Does that mean it will be deeper or more satisfying? Does it mean I will be wiser or less giving in the middle?
I’m home now, in Portland. And as my parts continue to catch up to me from around my travels, my heart from Valdez, my mind from the desert, my spirit from the storm in the Grand Canyon… they are catching up to my body here and re-assimilating and the pieces don’t really fit the way they used to. They don’t fit the way they did a year ago. They are off just enough that I know my body needs to change to be able to re-home them all and when that is done, I’m not sure I’ll be recognizable to myself.
It’s not a bad thing. Evolution is necessary to all things. When you’re stagnant you die, but even as I know this I keep wondering… Will I then be a woman? If so, what does that mean?
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