Dickinson Again...with a Little Monroe

If I haven't already made this clear, it is becoming more and more apparent to me that I have no skill at putting myself out there. I am completely and utterly socially inept for this reason. On paper, I am a strong, confident, beautiful young woman. In practice, I'm meek and timid and very, very unsure of myself. I am in my early twenties, trying to carve an image for myself, and I can't even pluck up the courage to ask out a guy that I like, who I am almost certain likes me back. I am so afraid that I'm going to screw up. It's killing me.

And it isn't as if I have a reason to believe I won't do well. True, most of my high school infatuations were completely and totally unrequited, and it is also true that the only two boys who I ever was intimate with emotionally shredded my heart to bits, but that was their mistake, not mine, and I recovered well, for what it's worth. What is also true is that, since I've turned twenty, I've also been turning heads. I blossomed when I turned twenty. I grew out of my awkward clothes, my glasses, my nerdy hobbies (D&D should definitely be left to pubescent adolescents), and my inability to talk to people. For God's sake, I work retail. I practically had to force myself to put on a huge smile and be obscenely outgoing to connect with my customers. I used to be such a shut-in tomboy, until I got my pixie cut, and then I couldn't pull off looking like a boy anymore. Let's just face it, if I hadn't started trying to look nice, I'd have looked like I was batting for the other team, and while it works for some people, it's not exactly a look I'd like to have. So I started wearing dresses and skirts and mascara, and all of a sudden, people started noticing me. I was beautiful. I was darling. This period in time is what I silently refer to as my coming out: coming out of my small girlish shell and becoming a full-fledged woman.

But full-fledged women, in my opinion, should not let themselves be limited like I limit myself. I preach courage, faith in one's self, but I am so doubtful on how to make my way boldly. It's times like these when I feel I should be able to channel Marilyn Monroe. All of you might think, nah, not that dumb floozy from the fifties. But actually, the lady was fairly bright and despite the fact that she was always cast as the dumb blonde, she was smart enough to catch playwright Arthur Miller, who wrote plays like Death of a Traveling Salesman. Needless to say, she was a tad unstable, but she was sharp as a tack. One of her most memorable quotes is "A wise girl knows her limits. A smart girl knows that she has none." I'm not sure where I saw this quote, but it is a source of inspiration for me, daring me to be more.

Yet there's always this stigma that women have to let the men lead the chase, that people have to be pushy in order to get what they want, blah blah blah - for some reason, there has to be a set way of doing everything, and if you fall out of line, there's always someone there telling you you are doing things wrong. Emily Dickinson was an asocial shut-in, never wandered out of her house past the age of twenty, but now she's hailed as a genius, both in literature and philosophy.

But, as it stands, I have not tried the normal ways of doing things, thinking I am better, believing myself to be above these mentalities and expectations. Who knows? Maybe it's time I walked the more usual path...and that's where the scientist in me starts kicking in. Oh dear. Let's hope I figure this out sooner than later...

In all seriousness, I am who I am. I cannot be the girl who is manipulative and passive aggressive. My tolerance for immaturity is appallingly low. And I find no desire ever to lie to the people in my life. I could possibly pretend I am not this person, and turn things around, but then I am no longer Ellie. I am some chick who looks like her who is just like everyone else. Perhaps there is doubt there for a reason. Perhaps it is my instinct. But I would just like to say that I don't want to change for the benefit of someone else. So why let the status quo and the social politesse rule me? Someday, I will find the courage to let myself go, to let my hair down and free my inhibitions. For now, it is only a matter of being who I am and accepting that not everyone is going to accept me. For the people who do, they will be cherished in my life for a long time to come. For those who don't, well, they were never really worth my time anyways. And as for myself...well, I'm just going to enjoy the coming spring sunshine...and maybe channel some Norma Jean while I'm at it.

The Jiminy Cricket Effect (More to the Point, How Robert Frost Became My Conscience)

I do truly believe that Robert Frost was a genius, especially when he wrote such deep and defining poems, such as "Fire and Ice", "My November Guest", and "Design": poems that speak on the nature of us and of the world around us. Yet, and though it is very cliche, I do believe that his best work to define the human experience is "The Road Not Taken". We go through life by making choices - at every turn, we are making choices. Should I go out tonight, or stay in? If I stay in, do I eat something and go to bed, or do I stay up and watch TV, or perhaps do I open that bottle of chardonnay and mourn not going out? Do I text the man I've been thinking about and ask him to dinner, or do I watch my phone in hopes that maybe he texts me? And what about that time he drove me home, and I didn't kiss him before leaving, even though I wanted to?Do I sleep in this morning (the answer is often yes), or do I rise early and make the most out of my day? We take certain turns in our paths in life, and that is what "The Road Not Taken" discusses.

Robert Frost not only ponders the concept that we live by our decisions and that perhaps taking the less obvious choice or the less popular choice is fairer, but he also, in an almost despairing tone, remarks on the phenomenon that once a choice is made, it cannot be undone and cannot be returned to. There are few things in my life that make more sense to me than this. One does have to live with the consequences of one's actions, thus dictating how one is obligated to live: reaping what one wishes to sow. It is almost the Golden Rule. Not quite, though - there are times when we must be cruel in order to be kind, even though no one really likes being the reciprocate of that treatment, for better or for worse.

At any rate, after having read this poem, it has become quite clear to me: when I come to a fork in the road, choose the road I will not regret having taken, the one that suits me best, the one that will benefit my world more. In doing so, I do believe I will become a happier person for it.


The Road Not Taken

Two roads diverged in a yellow wood,
And sorry I could not travel both
And be one traveler, long I stood
And looked down one as far as I could
To where it bent in the undergrowth;

Then took the other, just as fair,
And having perhaps the better claim,
Because it was grassy and wanted wear;
Though as for that the passing there
Had worn them really about the same,

And both that morning equally lay
In leaves no step had trodden black.
Oh, I kept the first for another day!
Yet knowing how way leads onto way,
I doubted if I should ever come back.

I shall be telling this with a sigh
Somewhere ages and ages hence;
Two roads diverged in a wood, and I-
I took the one less traveled by,
And that has made all the difference.

I Say I Don't Like Cowards, But...

I really, really cannot stress enough how important it is to be up front about your feelings. That being said, I am the biggest offender when it comes to shoving my feelings in the back of the closet. No joke. If I like a guy, and instead of finding ways of slipping my hand in his or something romantic like that, I instead try to take the long way around and try every single way of beating around the bush possible. I make a point of caring and being there for him, but as soon as we get down to raw emotion, I bolt. If I'm angry at someone, I don't let them see how hurt I am, and I never yell, unless I'm pushed into it. I just cool off, and then if it's still vexing me, whatever, it is that irritated me in the first place, I sit down and I talk it out. I'm afraid of letting people see that I am as sensitive and as fragile as the rest of the human race.

It has come to the point in my life where I need to turn around and evaluate why this is and how can I make a change for the better. Why am I so afraid of letting someone see my vulnerabilities? I never had issues with trust, though I've had my share of disappointments. I have never been abandoned. I've never had to deal with any major hardships. I've been strangely fortunate in my life as far as my interactions with people have gone. Yet, still, I'm so gun-shy, so leery of what might happen if I open up. Is it instinct? Is it fear? Why have I built these walls, keeping people out? Why am I such a shut-in?

I am well practiced at giving my opinion and letting people know what I like and what I don't like. And I've grown confident enough that no one is allowed to truly dictate to me what I should or should not do. But I still can't find the strength to be the person to take charge, to truly be a leader, an example. I never step up, afraid to make mistakes. So maybe it is fear. So then perhaps I need to remember how to be brave.

Beta

Slinking through the night, dark fur harvests the moonlight,
taking in, never giving back.
Shining eyes watch her leader, then watch as her and her alpha's followers
fall in line. The hunt has begun.
I watch them through the grasses as they traipse out of thick groves,
and I know she has caught my scent. Her ears prick in my direction,
attentive, but silent.
She will not risk rebellion if she does not need to,
and it seems my musk is not one of nefarious overtones.

Prey lingers near, smell of food and adrenaline, and she forgets me
for a brief, pulsating moment. Instinct kicks like a hoof to the rear,
and she takes off, a whip snapping on the open plain.
Her questioning is seldom, her knowledge vast.
I wonder how something so exacting could be so submitting,
and my question cuts quicker when she receives a blow to the jaw from a silvered female -
the alpha as well as her mate - and instead of fighting for herself,
instead of biting back, for her teeth look deathly pearlescent,
she shrinks back, tongue held and bitter knowing rescinded.
She remembers her place.
She will not fight for higher goals, for the pack is a teetering boat not to be rocked.

Suddenly, the big male spies me lurking near.
A quick bark to the others, and suddenly, like shadows, they drag away
a few small carcasses, fit for a baron's feast.
She looks at me, my little beta female,
and I cannot help but shed a tear.
One tear for the little wolf
with the world on her shoulders,
without complaint.