What is left is right
Earlier I was thinking about what is left when you take away the signifiers: place, shoes, community. Part of what makes this interesting, I think, is that we rely on signifiers not just to tell us who ourselves are, but who everyone else is.
Glasses: smart
Pink hair and docs: punk: rebellious: angry: tough
Knitting: loving: crafty: traditional (though that is changing)
Station wagon: cheerful: reliable: parent
Mother: cheerful: reliable: patient: station wagon
It’s why (I think) we tie pink ribbons round the bald bald heads of newborn girls. We need a signifier, something to tell us who this creature is.
But like the pink ribbon, any signifier is as limiting as it is useful. More so, because they’re so often wrong. They lull us into thinking we know something about someone when we really really don’t. If you take off your Docs and put on strappy sandals, does that change you? Or are you still a crap-kicking hard-arse in strappy sandals? If I move out of the city, am I no longer a city-girl? We think because of the short cut signifier that we’ve got someone nailed down and we don’t.
What if, without all the little handles we strap onto ourselves and the people around us, we existed without handles. What would happen? Would we be more free to be contradictory, to embrace all the parts of ourselves that don’t add up neatly into a Hollywood whole? Maybe.
I’ve noticed (have you noticed) that as I age I get more resistant to change (and I’ve never been that good at it). My parents are almost solidified. I wonder what we have to do to stay flexible, to be willing to embrace change and difference as we age. Shedding some handles, some need for others to have handles must help. Without all those protuberances, we slide more easily into the available shapes without scrapes or bruises.
Maybe what will be left when most of those little handles are stripped off, is right.
What?! Are you going to dye your hair one color and get a simple bob? Don’t do it Action Girl! You are you! And whatever you wear, drive, and do is you! We love you just the way you are.
By the way, here is a cross-reference. I know plenty of bitches who drive SUVs and wagons and happen to be mothers (I’m glad you’re not in that group). Glasses mean less than perfect eyesight. Knitting means you make my own stuff, and lots of it! Pink hair means you like pink hair.
If you move out yonder, and come back to the city wearing Talbot’s I promise to still love you, even though I might have dialed 911 before I realized it was you.
I’ll start on your dreadlocks today.
This was interesting to read in the context of me exploring Buddhism, and having recently acquired a bracelet that holds the “eight auspicious symbols of Buddhism” right there on it. I wear it on my wrist and glance at it daily, with curiosity and wonder… I am not a Buddhist (yet… or rather- may never choose to own that label…) but I wear this bracelet to keep me humble and mindful… because I especially need that right now (you know why) and it keeps me clear.
Yet, it seems so superficial still… like a pink bow on a newborn girls head….my Tibetan Buddhist bracelet….
Anyway, stunts, I’ve had a few drinks tonight and am in no place to comment or put words on the internet for all time preservation… – but I love you and am so happy you are here again, sharing yourself with us….
Excellent post and something I have often mulled over, myself.
In the particular context of moving…when we moved out of the city to this old-fashioned (sidewalks, old trees, sweet town center within walking distance) suburb a few years back I was dismayed by how many people gleefully laughed and said “You’re a suburban housewife now, kiddo!” I was like, “Really? This morning I was a hip urban Mama and this afternoon, because we moved less than one mile away, I am a frumpy suburban Mommy?” In a word, yes. But why?
I know humans have a hard-wired urge for classification but sometimes its best to step back and think a little.