Lets be honest.
No one really likes the word feminist unless you are an extreme feminist. I feel as though I am a woman who seeks equality of all and am an advocate of woman’s rights. Does this make me a so called feminist? Or a normal human being?
Lena Dunham has become my media hero.
Not many woman cam go on camera, nude, without working out, dieting, or simply not eating and feel comfortable. When Hannah, Lena’s character, is on camera, I feel at home to be whomever I am at whatever size I am. Its’ comforting.
Whether she has intended or not, she has created a movement of women who are learning to love their bodies despite social media and social “norms”. To love the curves, ebbs and flows of each other bodies and appreciate what we have.
We feel sexy when wearing tight skirts that were once only adaptable to thin women. We embrace our voluptuous booties and boobies and feel damn right hot!
The new era has started. The booty is back.
Mistakes are made. A new day comes and they fade into the past as quickly as we let them. They arise multiple times in life and they give each an opportunity to learn, to change, to become the ideal person we seek.
This ideal is sewn into our story. The labyrinth we create for ourselves. Some believe life just happens and what occurs is meant to be. But its quite the opposite. You have each opportunity to create the ideal life for yourself. Waiting for life to happen is what drags many through life one day at a time with an ideal they don’t believe they are capable of.
My ideal is no where near simple, as I am not a simple woman. I see my future with land, animals, a family and a career to change the minds of thousands one dog at a time. Each moment I am stepping to that dream. Sometimes I start to doubt where my labyrinth will lead me. These are the moments of weakness we all carry. In these times I step out into nature, my church and read the book of Mother Earth as I was through the forest.
The last time I heard those three words, I broke down. It had been over for two weeks and we both desperately hung onto what we knew we had lost and had not kindled. He said he would never stop loving me, but he has. Do I blame him? No.
The last time I heard those three words was just about three years ago, yet that scene replays in my head constantly. It was not as if he had not said them before, the problem was, that evening was the first time I believed him since the first time I heard the words. As we made love for the last time he said it and it broke me.
The last time I heard those three words I cried, the same tears that I weep now. The loss still hurts. He was my first love and although I know there will be more to come I still weep. A first love will always remain as your first love.
Everyone has their demons. Some let them rule their everyday life and others pack them up and store them in the attic. Most days my demons are at bay and I can live my life without think of the days that went wrong. How I wish relationships were different. If he only just tried to be my father. People joke about girls with “daddy issues” and I know I’m one of them.
I pushed him away thinking he would push back. He ran away and I locked my demons in the shed.
Grief sets in when you realize you talk about your father in past tense although his grave has yet to be dug. He is a myth in your romanticized childhood but still a large part of who you have become today.
His hair grey but still the same hair your remember. His face has remanence of the man you grew up with but so much has changed. Even in photos you can see the pain in his eyes. The pain that you helped progress. As the demons seep through your tear ducts you realize how long you have kept them trapped. The stories and lies you tell others to help form the truth you wish to believe. You try and stay high all the time to keep from thinking of your broken childhood but the demons wait in the shadows for you to fall.
The urge of getting out and going.
I go through many up and downs throughout the year. I try and believe other feel the same but always see myself as separate. The ups are blissful and I feel like a lioness in the plains of Africa. I feel invincible. Many of these times involve travels, friends, laughter and creativity. The times when I’m down are lonely. It is these times when I feel that I am my only friend. I fear I couldn’t live with being my only friend. I yearn for connections with friends, family, animals. Not that my own company bores me, but it does not fulfill all of my desires.
Does this mean I am missing a fundamental piece of humanity? Probably not. So many of us try and be the person they want the world to envy when deep down they are themselves. Shying away from society their negatives and only publishing their positives. The world has been teaching my generation of youths to judge all books by their covers and judge them quickly. The very essence of what so many have tried to teach and instill has intern been reverse via cultural demand for economic growth. We feed on the likes and comments of those who know nothing of our being to show the world that we are worth it. WE are important. Yet when we fall asleep at night, how long can we recite to ourselves the lies of how many ‘friends’ we have or ‘followers’. A generation of selfies yet we know less and less of human connections.
Somehow in this transitional point in my life, yet again, I feel stagnant. Although this is the exact opposite of how I believe I should feel. Being home and away from adventure, from safaris, cheetahs, horses and Africa is different, yet feels so normal. My thoughts cannot even comprehend that I have only been home for a little over two week from Namibia. With the Chaco sandal tan line giving me slight reminders of where my past year has gone. Part of me is relieved to be back in an “easy” society and lifestyle where everything is comfortable and made easy, yet I feel no adventure near.
My feet are itching the longer I stay. They want to run up a mountain and sail down on a snowboard, or buy a ticket to Nepal and inhale the experiences and culture all around. Going back to my roots honestly scares the shit out of me. I love my family and friends here, but I have a huge fear of becoming stuck. Almost a claustrophobic feeling. Coming back to the States with no car, no job and in search of a home to call my own for at least a year. Will my gyspy soul ever settle down and grow a life of stability? At this point it seems distant and possibly doubtful. My soul feeling tattered is like sighting your old lover. I remember the feeling from previous adventures. It’s never easy coming home from an outside world. The biggest issue is, the people you know and love don’t know or understand what it is you went through and experienced both good and bad during you wondering. They may had ideas, but you are the only one who knows. As badly as you want to share with others, it just doesn’t feel the same.
The love of travel is what keeps you moving and back onto your feet.
My time in one place is ending for this period of time and a new path will begin shortly.
My feelings are bridged as I look over my past and smile with hope for a bright future. Every step brings new opportunities, faces, and adventures. My adventurous heart yearns for my eyes to grow wider as I soak in everything my eye can comprehend and bring into my veins and heart. The love I have is not with a person at the moment, its with the big – bright world and the gifts it shares with those of us who open up and find them.
Africa has been my home for the past year and it saddens me to leave. The animals, the people and the breathtaking feeling I get as we race through the dirt roads with the windows rolled down as the wind engulfs my inner soul. I will miss this arid land full of some of the most amazing creatures, but now my path leads me back to my roots. These roots of tall lush forests, cool, crystal blue streams and lakes, the tall mountains always in view to keep your mind wondering.
So, until we meet again Namibia.