Gingerbread

There are a few things that I understand about being a girl. Like how a good hair day can make you feel like the most confident person in the world. And a bad one can make you want to hide. Or the way a compliment feels when it is sincere and stringless. And the way a sad man clutches at your heart. How a pair of heels can put an extra sway in your step. The triumph of doing something hard like changing a tire or putting together a book shelf is enough to make you dance around and call home to your dad with rushing words that are too close together.

I wish there was a manual. A set of instructions. This is how you go about this. And that is how you accomplish that. This is how you know. When a man sees you as a friend or a woman. And when it is safe to stay. Wouldn't that be grand?

People try to help. It is well intentioned. But so confusing. Never make the first move, but make sure that you appear available. Do not send two messages in a row. Keep some secrets. Don't act too interested, but be interested. Make a list. Pros and cons. Never make assumptions. Play dumb. Keep it loose and free.

Heavens. The great girl that can accomplish all of that. Well. She sounds terrifying.

My brother sent me a new phone in the mail. I took it out of the box and looked at it. And then neatly put it back. It sat in my car for five days. I do not like change. Or buttons. I do not like things that I do not understand.

When I am entirely frustrated and feeling out of place, I ask Him. Did you really mean to make me in this era? Are you sure that I belong here? One hundred percent without a doubt sure?

Because I feel like a stranger. I am not good at intuition. Or coyness. I don't want whistles and nods and hollers. I like winks. And opened doors. And respect? I am not out to conquer the world. Or to climb a ladder. And I do not want to be available by email and phone and text at every minute of the day. No. Thank. You.

I think this is what I want. I want to be discovered. Uncovered. Found. And I want to be memorable. I want to see all of him without shame. To embrace his light and his dark. And to feel capable and fierce and safe. There is a part of me that wants to run up to him and smile ear to ear. Just because he is alive. To navigate through disappointment and anger and boredom. And to come out on the other side farther into our souls for it. I would like to stand in the fire of life with someone. For someone.

Wouldn't I? I would after I watch old movies. Or read one of those happily ever after books. Then I would. But ask me after I've gotten one of those looks or seen the news or listened to someone's tears and I am not sure.

And then I begin to wonder. Is there anyone out there who believes in any of that anymore? Is there anyone out there worth believing in? And in a world that is so broken, how are people supposed to make it. It would be more than hard work right? It would be fun too, wouldn't it?

Run, run, as fast as you can. You can't catch me, I'm the gingerbread man. You can't catch me.

If I was one of my kids I would tell myself to check my attitude. It really is not very good. My faith in humanity. Small. And that is not ok.

So, I am going to go pack my bag. Of sundresses and swim suits and flip flops. And take my downs to the beach. Where life's problems fade away. Right? That's what the brochure says.

Ok God. Attitude check. Truth: I'm where I was made to be. And You are good. And on the throne. And life is not about me. Sigh. And that is a good, good thing.