How Did She Dare

“HOW DARE SHE…”

she said. Or something of that sort.

“...do something so selfish...” she finished.

A few short sentences, spoken in a coffee shop, presumably amongst friends who wouldn’t share the story later. But stories like this one tend to get shared, especially in a small town.

Especially in my small town. 

And this one was shared with me, which was particularly interesting since it turns out that it was also a story about me. Or, more accurately, about my recent decision to retreat to the coast of Maine for a month to write and to rest.

I don’t know the name of the woman who so freely shared her perception about my selfishness in a room full of strangers, and if we’re being honest, I prefer it that way. I want to be able to keep walking around my community assuming the absolute best of people, and the fact that she is faceless is helpful to that end. Her anonymity allows me to assign the blame for this situation out into the larger culture of which we are all a product, and I like being able to lay the blame where it belongs.

But also….there’s a part of me that wants to know.

Not so much her face or her name, but her story. 

Because her story, just like my story, is pretty vital to this story.

I want to know what makes her tick. 

I want to know about the fear that keeps her up at night, and how she handles the way life can be gentle in one moment and a tsunami in the next. 

I want to know what she hopes for herself and for the people she loves. 

I want to know what binds her, and I definitely want to know what will set her free because the only explanation here that makes any sense to me whatsoever is that she must be caged in some way.

Just like the rest of us

caged, as we are, by bars we can’t always see.

Now, I do think it’s important here to tell the truth and state the obvious:

Curiosity about her story was not my first instinct.

My first instinct was to defend my decision and extol every virtuous thing I’ve ever done to earn the right to rest in a way I so desperately needed.

My second instinct was to get angry. Snarky. Fight back the best way I know how… with words.

Publicly, if possible.
But I’m just so tired of wasting words that way. It never moves us anywhere worth going, and I’d prefer to go places that mean something to me…. Like the peaceful, rocky shores of Maine. For a whole entire month. But I digress.

Instead, it was my third (okay… maybe my fourth) instinct to become curious about her. 

To see her through a softer lens. 

To see her through the lens with which I wish she’d seen me before she decided that I’m selfish. 

To see her through a lens that allows her to be human, and allows me to be the same.

Because, you see, in my experience, this softer lens is the only one that allows us to create the kind of world I’m interested in creating.

A world that’s better to both of us.

Not for her sake. Or for mine. But for ours. 

Don’t we, after all, deserve a much better world than the one we’ve got?

I think we do.

I think we deserve a world where the least audacious thing we can do is opt for a month-long respite in the middle of a life otherwise dedicated to serving everyone else.

I think we deserve a world where we derive our worth from anything other than the perfection we are expected to produce.

I think we deserve a world in which women stop saying

HOW DARE SHE

And who, instead, find themselves willing to wonder

HOW DID SHE DARE

… to eat that bagel even with that belly.

… to stop punishing a body that is doing its best.

… to take up space at the center of her own life without apologizing for it.

How did she dare, indeed.

And then… (here comes the best part).....

We get to find out what can become of our daring.

We get to find out what happens in a world where women redirect the energy we’ve used to claw our way past each other and apply that energy toward things that actually matter.

We get to tell the stories of our highest highs and our lowest lows, without the constant fear of being judged for either.

We get to be more of who we are made to be without demanding anyone else becomes less in the process.

And then we get to leave the rest of the world wondering,…

How did she dare.

I’m here for that kind of world.. I hope you are, too.