At some point in my life, I quit trying to be a cliche and became the me. Maybe it was after the kids were grown and I didn’t have to be a mom. Maybe it was after my divorce and I didn’t define myself as a wife. I don’t know. But at some point, I became emancipated from the stereotype and chose the “me” I was created to be. It was then I wrote this poem:
There is no place for powder room visits
in my life anymore.
For girls who giggle en mass to apply masks.
A half century and beyond teaches me
the futility of puberty
and much more.
Fleeting feelings and cheap wine and cold marbled rooms
I don’t need.
Now I revel in tender touches, expressive voices, exposed eyes,
Warm blankets of wise thoughts and strings of music
from the meadowlark.
No, I need no powder room visits
to put on a face any longer.
For now is the time of baring face
and breaking free.
Patricia Allwood Hindman (2006)
MULLING THINGS OVER
We don’t all feel free to be ourselves every moment. But we can come to the point where we are real most of the time.
Do you feel you sometimes keep your face in a jar beside of the door and put it on when you feel?
What are those occasions?
Have you come to the point you feel you are really you most of the time?