I feel left out. I feel like I have to compromise who and what I am to play their game (join, join, join, no matter what the outcome). I prefer to maintain my autonomy and let my gestures be from me and not from an amorphous political group. But I feel left out.
So I’m looking at WHY I feel left out. I’ve never been a part of that group. Never. I’ve been wooed and solicited by them as individuals, and even by women who are not a part of the group. I suppose I took some sort of proprietary interest in the group through others. But I am no more a part of this group of women than I am a part of my mother’s church.
So there must be a part of me that WANTS to be a part of them. And that stuff goes back to junior high! when I was the weirdo on the outside, the girl with the strange pantyhose, too tall, too homely, too moody and too foreign to fit in with the cheerleaders, the popular girls, the ones who were always at the top of all the lists.
But such is the incubation of the artist, I think. Even then I was ahead of the curve and not afraid to express what I saw coming, in spite of the guffaws and the naysayers. When trends eventually emerged and they remembered that I was wearing those strange hose a year ahead of them all, they looked at me with something that looked like fear. I didn’t like that part of it, but they began to treat me differently. They began to ask my opinion of things, and when I answered they listened.
I suppose it all comes down to trusting my instincts, believing my inner voice, the body of work I’ve done around romances gone wrong, when my instincts were derailed and my voice was silenced. That guidance is just as strong as it ever was. But as an addict, I constantly look for affirmation from other sources: people, food, sex, drugs, etc.
So the incubation continues. As the Big Book says, it’s a lifetime pursuit.