Les filles et les femmes

Betty Friedan might have been onto somethin' when she described femininity as more than an inherent oppression, more than a societal curse, but as a quiet assured power and a fascinating mystery. When I was a girl, I felt that this "mystery" was kept from me, but of course, from me alone. With an absent oldest sister to show me the femininely dainty ropes, I was left with the goofy mischievous middle brother as my primary influence. I delighted in greasy pizzas, squishing worms, and watching Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles. It did not occur to me that there was more to being a woman than wearing purses & colorful high heels. As far as my 9-year-old mind was concerned, the only difference was that boys had an extra worm "down there," and unlike the worms that I squished, they were "not to be touched until I was a lot a lot a lot older," says mother. Okay, but this still didn't explain why it was so great to be a girl. Once adolescence hit, all of a sudden I had this monthly demon to deal with, my chest was still flat as a board, and my face transformed into something akin to the pepperoni pizzas I used to scarf down. And this voice in my head told me that I wasn't okay with myself. It's a man's world, and you just have to deal with it by hiding your femininity. So, I hid. Behind T-shirts & jeans & loud music & of course, self-induced cynicism. Ah, it was a time to remember. (But not really.)

Good news. I will let you in on a little secret: no longer do I consider it bad to be a woman. It's a wonderful thing. I love my femininity. I love the nuanced scent of perfume on my skin, I love twirling in a dress, cuddling with a familiar friend (human or animal), indulging my sweet tooth, afternoon tea parties, letting my hair down, being made up, and I love to be romanced. I love the mystery of every woman in my life -- because it's something that men know of, but are petrified of exploring. It's a dangerous but profoundly beautiful thing when you're drawn into it. I've been inspired, loved, and hurt by so many women in my life: friends who have never left my side, friends who have become foes, friends who are my lights. It's with women that I use most prolifically my vast vocabulary of terms of endearment -- "love," "darling," "sweet." Because I have a tender affection for them. As a little girl, I had best friends. As an adult, I have confidants, and I have sisters. The relationships I have with women are unmatched by the relationships I have with men. They are unbreakable, they are personal, they are immensely intimate. Stasi Eldredge wrote in Captivating a pretty accurate description of how women friends relate:

"When I gather with a group of women friends, inevitably someone begins to rub someone else's back. Hair gets played with. Merciful, tender, caressing, healing touches are given. Men don't do this with each other. [God, no. At least, most don't.] It is unique to women. When women gather, they ask meaningful questions. [...] They dive unabashedly into matters of the heart."

And because women tend to invest more into every relationship, serious matters of disappointment and pain inevitably emerge. Regardless, these relationships are worth pursuing & maintaining because there are infinite moments of joy that surpass those disappointments. Eldredge mentions "circles of intimacy," which I found interesting. We can only have 2 or 3 intimate friends in our lives at any given time, because that's just how our hearts are constructed. The next circle consists of friends who are close, but not close enough that you would put on your "emergency contacts," and the last circle are those of acquaintances and the occasional facebook wall post of "HaY, M1Ss U"s. She then likens this concept to the relationships that Jesus had & built up during his ministry on Earth. His most intimate circle being Peter & the sons of Zebedee, His second circle being his Twelve, and the third, His other disciples. "Friends will move from one circle to another, but you can't possibly have/maintain intimacy with everyone." I find this to be relatively true.

My friends are weird. Just flat out, strange & awkward. But they're beautiful nonetheless, and I care for them perhaps more than I care for myself. We gush, we giggle, we yell and scream and cry -- Wash, rinse, repeat. We've shared the horrors of pervert teachers and yucky boys, we've endured bouts of boredom & mild poverty, we've grown into who we are today together. And now for the past 2 years, we're scattered all across California and even the states, and most times, it's easy to hide from each other. But when we have those rare opportunities to come together, it's mysterious. Because it's there that we bare our hearts. Lately as I've had more time to ponder years of unthought revelations, I've felt distant, unrelatable and that everything was changing. In truth, everything had always been changing, but I hadn't the patience to notice. When my friends come together, it's a high traffic intersection of lives, and the cars which drive on them become so many stories.

But this past weekend was refreshing. Driving up to Santa Barbara to visit one of my best friends with three of my other best friends took me back to those "good 'ol days." But something was different -- we all carried inside of us this femininity that I always failed to notice. And in a weak moment, I let my guard down, fearful of the outcome. But they accepted what they saw, as ugly and wounded as it was, and they made it okay. It's as detailed as I'll allow myself to go, because this is an already text-laden post, but trust me when I say, girls do just want to have fun.

Earlier in the week in Carlsbad: the armpit of San Diego County:

Friday night upon arrival at Santa Barbara:

Well I suppose when in Rome. . .

Day 2:
On the agenda, blueberry picking near the 101 N & promenading in Solvang

"Mentos. The Freshmaker."

The local bagel joint in Isla Vista slathers on their cream cheese until it oozes.

The fields went on for miles & miles.

It was towards the end of the season, but some were still ripe. Most were shriveled because it was hotter than when Hiroshima hit. Probably around 100 degrees.

Family portrait.

Day 3: Breakfast with fresh blueberries, downtown, & the beach!

Lilian's famous (well, at least, in our circle of friends) cucumber dip, Dayanita's bluberry pancake/crêpe, Krupa's scrambled eggs, my fresh blueberry syrup & muffins, & Amanda's . . . table setting!

yum.

A random man on the street deemed Krupa & Amanda worthy of handling his snakes.

I kind of love my friends, a lot. Sometimes I miss them even while I'm with them. But I know that they'll keep growing and changing and one day we'll become the Golden Girls when all our husbands are dead. The end.