This blog has seen me through several heart breaks, considerable heartache, about a hundred fantasy crushes and about a million glances at cute boy's bum's. I've obsessed over the size of my bum, I've obsessed about the fact I'm obsessing over the size of my bum, and I've obsessed about what obsessing about the fact I'm obsessing over the size of my bum means about me as a woman. I've thought a lot about being a woman, being happy as a woman and being powerful as a woman. I’ve thought about what my power animal would be. It’s a lioness. No biggie.
Yesterday afternoon after having wonderful sex* with my wonderful man, I completed the perfect Sunday afternoon by falling asleep on said man's lap while reading. A few drowsy minutes after waking, my current bastion for all things good kissed me on the forehead and politely excused himself explaining that he had needed to pee for the greater part of my nap on his lap. This small gesture (though considerably large when taken in to account the small size of most men’s bladders) filled my heart with such joy I briefly considered throwing the towel in on psychology and trying my luck as a romance writer. The happiness and deep ease I feel around him made sense as I realised this happiness was more to do with how I feel about myself, than the connection I have with my partner. This was, as women have termed before, "quite an empowering moment".
I want to be a good woman and I’m lucky enough to have found myself a good man. But I’ve realised that none of it matters unless there is genuine happiness. I’ve realised that you’re not going to help create future generations of super empowered, go-getters with vagina's unless you’re rolling with the punches, shedding a few tears when you’re hurt and then dusting yourself off and reengaging your joyous self for all to bask in the warm, inspiring glow of. I’ve decided THAT is how you become an influential woman, but maybe more importantly, a happy woman.
So, in conclusion, I think I stumbled across the meaning of life. Or at least, fell asleep on it. Sadly this realization, as documented across the ages, is one that needs to be made on an experiential level, but I’ll be damned if I don’t put a few pointers out to help mark the way. Consider this my blogs new direction.
I love you, ladies.
* Writing about such things isn't crass if you're all self actualised and junk. Really.
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