An hour long bath reading the "Feminine Mystique" by Betty Friedan while the kids sleep and Isaac works late was the perfect end of a day for me. I am through the prefaces, the updates and well into chapter one. Truly it is fresh water to my soul. Echoes of beliefs I have held inside me, long silenced by the culture in which I exist shout from the pages. Excitement and possibility once again rises in my soul. I have been a torment of oxymorons in my short life; flipping between my beliefs and theirs sometimes on an hourly basis. I am strong, yet weak, I love my kids and to cook yet despise the fact that I must. I would be able to kill someone if the situation dictated yet my loving compassionate core gives constantly. The list continues.
Through the pages I feel like I have a voice.
Smart, Intelligent, markedly observant I have done nothing of consequence. My resume is a detailed list of a confused woman. Tossed to and fro I have randomly given into pressures. This week the fact that I am a drifter has been crystal clear. I am ready to stick to one thing and make it mine, unhampered by faulty belief systems.
The book already is giving me a platform. Allowing me to walk out and stand on my foundation.
I bathed and did not shave, stared long and hard at my un-exercised mid-section with out disdain, in the mirror saw how the dark rims the steal blue of my eyes. I kissed my child asleep in my bed.
My journey has intensified lately, rushing along at a formidable pace. If I would stop and think about it I would feel like I couldn't keep up. But I can and I am, and the wind on my face feels good.
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