Is She A Girl Or A Woman?

Drove almost 400 miles today which is the reason that I haven’t gone to the gym but not the kind of excuse that prevents me from taking a walk around the neighborhood ‘cuz I have to do more than some pushups for exercise.

Took the hybrid into East Texas and was grateful for the 43 MPG it averaged, but missed my car because the seats are more comfortable and a dozen other things I like about it.

Got one of those only in Texas moments when I came across a guy riding a 10 speed with a backpack and a rifle slung over his shoulder.

Rolled in Canton desperate for food and picked a place called Buttermilk that had been recommended along with a burger joint. The burger place would probably have been the better pick but I had reached the nexus point of hunger and angry so hangry won.

Couldn’t roll on for another 5 miles without food.

Sat in a booth in front of four women and got an earful about their lives as mothers and wives. Heard them argue about whether you can call a 40 or 50 something a girl and tried to tune the noise out.

Not that is not important to consider the best way to show respect for the fairer species but because hangry doesn’t want to listen to high pitched shrieks of anger about “is she a girl or a woman.”

Most of the time there was no shrieking, but they hit that one moment and I had fight not to turn and glare.


The Language We Use

If I were to describe my thoughts about you as encompassing the Whitman quote above I would expect to be able to call you my girl or my woman, not that you asked.

But if we are going to talk about the language we use and how we communicate I have thoughts and ideas.

I know things.

I know that if you know how to really communicate with another you can reach a deeper level of trust and intimacy than you can with others.

I know that sometimes you can do it without using words and that sitting with another just listening to them breathe can be enough. It is a chemical thing, you smell that other person and you recognize home.

Doesn’t really matter where you are if home is with you, but you always know when it is not. There is an ache that can come with it.

Sometimes you cover it up and bury it but it doesn’t mean it is gone, no matter how hard you try to fool yourself.

*****

The women or girls as some of them said they preferred to be called reminded me about how ages can be timeless.

When they spoke about high school I could relate to much of what they said, certain things were beyond my ability because there are physical functions we don’t share, but most of the social stuff rang true.

And the comments they made about the strange faces they see in the mirror resonated because I recognize the eyes but not always my face.

The guy looking at me is much older than I expect to see and it throws me even though I know it is coming because 50 feels like 19.

Well, maybe not so much because when I realize how much life experience I have versus then it is evident that I am not him anymore.

Sometimes when I speak with my 18 year-old son or 19 year-old nephew I am surprised at how old some of my responses/reactions sound. They aren’t necessarily things I say out loud but inside my head the words have nothing to muffle the noise.

Final Thoughts

It is not kind to be shown a picture and immediately wonder why the person in it hasn’t been locked up. Can’t very well say they look like you would expect the Joker to look without makeup without upsetting someone.

Funny thing is I really haven’t any problem saying such things but maintained my silence because there wasn’t any reason to engage.

That is something that happens with increasing frequency, a lack of desire to engage.

Silence is warm, comforting and inviting.

I embrace it and make fewer phone calls and send out fewer emails than ever before. Maybe I have set out on a walkabout and silence enhances my spiritual journey.

Or maybe I am tired.

Maybe I don’t want to carry others who can’t decide if they want, need or wish to be handled, helped or accompanied.

Whatever it is I expect to see it continue to unfold and that eventually it will leave me upon a new doorstep or train station.

Maybe we really do walk them all.

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