It’s a wonderful feeling, at the end of a drudgery work day, to just let go of it all and walk away. I’ve got my iPod, I’ve got my Palm Pilot with a stack of eBooks, and I have a nice 15 minute walk to the train. And I let it all go, every day, when I walk out that door and bebop down the street.
On Thursday, as I walked home from work (and yes, I shouldn’t have been at work at all, but there was a ‘crisis’ and there I was, working on Rosh Hashana, and bitter about it), I blasted some loud, boppy 1990 music I hadn’t listened too in a month or so. It’s a mix I call ‘WTMX Fast’ because it’s all ripped MP3s from CDs I bought back when I listened to WTMX 24/7. I don’t listen to much pop now, so the mix consists of things like mainstream Smash Mouth, one-hit-wonder Harvey Danger, and hardly known at all Lauren Christy. There’s also some Imani Copola, whom I adore, and this song I remember bits of from the same era ‘I am 31 flavors and then some’ which I’d really love a copy of, and I don’t think it was Ani DeFranco (it was too pop for Ani, who Amy Ray once described as the sort of musician who locked herself in a room, got naked, rolled in the mud, and came up with something primal … having listened to a lot of Ani in my ‘angsty’ teen days, I agree).
I love letting it all go, and strutting with my ‘Big Man on Campus’ vibe down the street. The whole walk from work to the El stop is on a wide sidewalk with few people to work around. It’s not a walk I take in the dark hours, since it’s not populated enough that I feel safe after 9 at night, but at 4 or 6, it’s No BFD. That’s ‘No big fucking deal.’ Still, yesterday I noticed, as I passed the Post Office, that many of the women I passed walked with their arms folded in front, or wrapped around their waists.
Once, my father pointed out that crossing your arms was a classic defensive posture, which is why I try to do it as little as possible. No sense broadcasting it. That said, in women I’ve noticed that it’s also a classic sign of insecurity, versus the men’s more ‘aggressive’ defense. As I walked down the street, I thought about how difficult and uncomfortable it is to walk with ones arms wrapped around themselves.
As with all things mental, one thought trips lightly into the next, and I starting thinking about how much in pain a person had to be, mentally and psychologically as opposed to physically, to actually prefer to walk slightly hunched over in a wrapped, almost cocoonish position, rather than stand upright and absorb the suns rays (my style, in other words).
At first I thought that maybe it had to do with being a woman, and I, being raised by my father, was the odd one out. I walk like I own the street I belong on. I walk swiftly, with purpose and determination, unless I get lost, and with goals. Verily, I stride. Perhaps, I thought, it’s the ‘manliness’ aspect of my life.
On reflection, that seemed even more pompous and idiotic than it did in my head the first time I thought it. For fucks sake, I’ve been around the block, and while I’ve lead an exceptionally lucky, safe, protected, and brilliantly charmed life, I’m not an innocent. I’ve been (almost) mugged, I’ve seen people get killed by an El train, and while I’d never presume to say that I’m hugely worldly and have been there and done everything, I’m no naive nancy. But there are a million other women, in Chicago alone, who’ve had lives on par with mine. Maybe the ones I saw Thursday just weren’t numbered among them.
But that really didn’t make much sense either. The odds that I would walk past no less than seven women on my way to the El, all looking like they were an ostrich (head in the sand) or doing their best ‘I am the furniture, don’t notice me’ impression, may not be very low, but it was startling all the same. Since I had another 10-15 minute trek from the El stop to home (I get on and off at these long walk stops on purpose, so I can clock up to 7 miles walking each day), I spotted two more, out of the over 100 people I passed. I see a lot more people on the El-Home portion of the trek, than the work-El.
I don’t have a whole lot of answers here, just more questions. Why is it that I only saw women walking like that? Once I got on the ‘let’s notice the world’ wagon, I kept my eye out for men. I did see a few skittish, scurrying fellows, but they were much fewer than the woman.
It starting reminding me of the difference between my two cats. Na’Toth (not her real name) is 3 and has abandonment issues. Ipstenit says that it was because she was the sole survivor of her litter, her mom abandoned her, the old ladies who took her in gave her away to the Anti Cruelty Society, and then they to us, all by the time she was 6 months. Na’Toth reacts badly when we go away for more than a couple days. She tends to look at the world with wary suspicion, hissing and hiding from new people and smelling their shoes a lot. Na’Toth is also not a cuddler, though she does agree to come sleep on us. On the other hand, Ruth (not her real name either, these are their middle names), is a barely 3 month old kitten, and loves to jump, play and snuggle. You can pick up Ruth, plunk her in your lap, and she’ll happily purr and nap. Ruth trusts everyone and everything, and everything she sees is new and amazing.
When I looked at the dynamic duo last night, Na’Toth was sitting all mature and arrogant, haugthy even, and Ruth was asleep. I sneezed and Na’Toth arched a fuzzy eyebrow, looking at me like ‘Mom, stop that.’ Ruth’s head snapped up and with huge wide eyes stared at me.
That wide-eyed stare felt like the difference between me and those women on the street. I’m mature and capable and I know it. They’re kittenish and scared.
And that pains me. People shouldn’t need to be like that at all.
On a final note: Joan of Arcadia? Premieres on 9/24 (Erev Yom Kippur, thank you G-d for the VCR). She’s still having unexpected conversations with G-d.