A Bite Out of Reality

One summer, six years ago, I told myself that I needed to face reality for a little while. So I left blogging. I abandoned chat rooms, message boards, and emailing strangers from far off places who shared my frustrating passion for self-discovery as an unconventional woman. I left a vague indication that I was alright, that this sort of thing happens all the time to online dreamers, and for the most part I didn't feel I was missing much anyway.

"Funny, I don't FEEL more like myself. Hello? Is this thing on??"

Reality was marriage. Reality was my job, my church, my friends, the yard animals that keep digging under my shed. Also, there's been my other passion for self-expression, through ink, paint, and other artistic mediums. I chose to make time for this kind of actualization, admitting that my female identity had no place in the real world. No regrets; I've been doing well, on my feet, getting things done with the energy I used to reserve for lengthy declarations regarding the finer points of my personal femininity.

But I'm not right, either. I haven't been right in forever. The kind of right that's not about being correct, but feeling well-adjusted, or in place. I do have a life, sure, and it will always need my attention, but the part of me who is woman (and it doesn't have to be a physical part, not really) is wholly unsatisfied with her role in all of this. Feeling denied, perhaps. Feeling less than actualized. Wanting to do something about it, even if I'm reluctant.

Well, that sort of conflict can get out of hand, especially since, more and more, I don't feel the need to consult with outsiders like I've felt was necessary in the past. I want to be woman in the presence of loved ones, to be loved in return as Holli. I've always wanted acknowledgement, to be the "she" when someone points to indicate they're talking about me, to be the "girl!" in their friendly greetings without the slightest twang of irony. I don't get to experience these things, and may never, but suddenly I've decided to clear out a bit of room and let my girlside just exist.

Fine, I've said, with the heart of St. Compromise, the Practical. I won't drag my loved ones into the places they're uncomfortable. But I will be, for the sake of my soul, in one form or another.

I'm the sort who can eventually accept compromise, given enough time, but I'm also blessed with imagination. Those who tell me "you can't" soon realize that I've discovered fine print at the bottom of their airtight reasoning. Reality insists that we must abide by its wishes; it often neglects to point out the escape clauses.

It's really so simple: I never said I can't come back to this.

And so, I am. Just like that.

I plan to write. I plan to answer questions, even if I have to ask them myself. This is the new plan, see, where I don’t rely on people to help patronize me (even though sometimes that’s all I desperately wish for). I refuse to be the helpless maiden in the tower, as it were, awaiting rescue. So, chat with me, if you like. Invite me to enjoy something. Show me your own world. Let’s become acquainted in that limited yet indulgent way the internet affords us.

I’ll be honest. I promise.

I won’t be punctual, but I’ll be frequent.

Maybe I’ll write stories, and let you get involved with the telling.

I don’t really know what I’ll write next. But I need this. Voice. Presence. A sort-of reality in its own right, a peculiar sort. A universe where I am me, you are you, and we are (somewhat) together.

Hopefully yours,

-- HCP

"Rapunzel doesn't know how good she had it!
... God, grant me a long enough ladder."