Consistency, not Commitment.

it’s great seeing your name on my screen

One fucking text, and I fall apart all over.

Long story short, I needed someone to go with me to this thing, sort of last minute. So I’m texting all my usual people in the area, then I start texting boys I haven’t talked to in months just on a long shot, hoping they’re free. Boys that I liked, it just didn’t work out or whatever. Then I decide to text Remy, assuming he won’t answer me. He decides to respond, though. He can’t go, but ends his rejection with:

it’s great seeing your name on my screen.

Well then maybe you shouldn’t have disappeared, asshat!

Unfortunately, sometimes I still miss him. Remy and I weren’t technically dating, we only saw each other for a few months… but he was this magical, fleeting, shooting star and I just wish I had him around to bounce ideas off of every once in awhile.

What is it with these shooting stars? The boys that can still tug at me like no one else after months, years even, are the ones who weren’t around very long. Everything with them heated up quickly – the star burned hot and bright – and then before I knew it they were gone. Before I could even make a wish, they had disappeared.


Back in middle or high school, I used to tell people who were desperate for a boyfriend that if they stopped looking, good things would find them. Back then I think I was starting to realize the concept of: “maybe don’t be so desperate and boys will find you more attractive,” or, “confidence is sexy – act like you don’t give a fuck!”

Maybe it’s time I take my own advice. Not that I was desperately trying before, but I’ve decided I’m done with the internet dating thing.

I want to meet someone in a coffee shop one day, or accidentally run into someone when I’m out exploring my city. As a writer, I have this need for a good ‘how we met’ story. Something – anything – other than, “well, we both swiped right….”

I want a shooting star, but they’re all afraid of commitment. I get that, because I am too. Yet the ones ready to commit, the steady North Stars, can draw me in and keep me there for months before I realize what’s happened. I end up following along, heading in the same direction towards something I don’t even want. I fall into a rhythm and I don’t even realize I’m unhappy until I realize I’ve been unhappy for awhile.

What I need isn’t commitment. I don’t need to get married or move in with anyone. I just want… consistency. I want a more consistent shooting star. Someone to hang out with, that likes some of the same things I do. Someone who is crazy about me and can make me giggle like a child.

Maybe I need to shoot for the moon instead of another star. Ever-changing yet constant. The biggest, the brightest. Or even the sun – I spend enough time in darkness, I need someone who can bring me out of it. Someone who brings out the poet, the writer in me – but without the disappearing act.

But I’m no astronomer nor astronaut, and I’m done becoming undone over one silly text. The sun can come find me for all I care.

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Feminist in Limbo – Boys Will Be Boys

I still remember the first time I realized sexism was a very real thing.

I played soccer, and in my hometown that meant playing coed. Because of the lack of interest in soccer in my hometown, especially for girls, this usually meant I was one of very few girls on the “coed” team. Other teams we played didn’t always have a coed team, so we played the all boys teams by default, I guess. Defense was my usual position at the time. One particular game, this boy on the other team, their favored striker, kept attacking the side I was defending. Which is fairly normal; people will tend to stick to the side of the field and the foot they’re more comfortable with. But after several attempts to score on that side of the field without success, most people will switch it up and try something else. They’ll try it up the middle, they’ll try to pass – something! This guy just kept coming at me though. Eventually I moved over to the other side of the field to give me a break from playing constant defense against this guy. Except now this kid is coming at me on this side too! I thought it was strange, but just kept playing. Then, this kid brings the ball up the field and one of his teammates (likely tired of this ball hog) calls for him to pass the ball, because he’s going to lose it if he keeps headed in my direction. Instead of passing the ball to his completely open teammate, he just says “I got it! I can beat the girl.”

I can beat the girl.

I didn’t really think too much of it at the time, I was busy getting the ball away from this kid, but later I realized why he kept bringing the ball up whatever side I was on. He thought I was an easy target. That because I’m a girl, I couldn’t defend against him. That as the ‘weaker sex’ I couldn’t keep up.

Later in the game I stole the ball from him and made him look like a fool, and he eventually stopped bringing the ball up my side. I like to think I taught him a lesson that he kept with him for the rest of his life but I think that may be unrealistic. Stories like this happen all the time, even for younger girls and adult women.

And you know what the most common response is, when I ask why boys say and do things like this? Why they exhibit blatant sexism, why they’re jerks to girls for no reason?

“Boys will be boys,” as if it’s completely out of their control. Yet we’re the weaker sex.


In the professional and international soccer world this type of thing still exists, most recently with the current controversy over using turf in the upcoming Women’s World Cup:

Come to think of it, perhaps there is no better evidence that this boils down to sexism than the stance taken by female soccer players. No one has more to lose than they do. Nobody would be more willing to play this World Cup on turf, if they truly believed there was no other way, if they truly believed it was fair.

Female athletes are taking action because no one else is, because not enough people seem to care.

And that’s exactly what FIFA is counting on.

FIFA, the soccer governing body, is known for being pretty corrupt. But this is something else; this is low even for those guys. I get upset when FIFA does things that are biased against the US, like putting the men’s team in the Group of Death nearly every World Cup, but I can’t handle the way they’re dealing with the women’s tournament. Yes, I am happy the women have their own tournament, and I’m so happy with the leaps and bounds that have been made even in my short lifetime.

I’m just asking FIFA not to take a giant leap backward on this one. Don’t show those boys that you think women are the weaker sex, that women deserve less. Show the world you value the women’s game as much as the men’s. Give the fans, and the players, what they want. Doing good business means including the girls, too. Boys will be boys, but men don’t have to be.

Feminism in Limbo: Chapter 6

In college I took an Organizational Behavior class as part of the business school curriculum. The class was too easy; the grade based entirely on 3 multiple-choice exams that were based entirely on the textbook. I went to class anyway, because the professor was amazing, funny, and had wonderful stories to tell.

But one thing that stuck out from that class, was a chapter on gender and a very distinct difference between the genders I’d never really noticed before, but it made sense. (I’m paraphrasing a bit and it’s been awhile, so bear with me). Women, when they complain or have a problem, typically want sympathy or someone to listen to them. Men expect a solution. So when a woman is telling you about their awful day, and then this guy is trying to solve the problem, when all she wants is someone to empathize with her… or vis-versa, a man is telling a female about his awful day, and he wants the problem to go away, but this girl is just giving him all this sympathy he doesn’t want. You can see where this could lead to frustration.

The professor then went on to explain why this happens, why the difference exists (again, paraphrasing):

When a little kid falls down, parents (dads especially), will often treat a boy differently than a girl. If their little girl falls down, a dad will rush to the rescue, and make sure everything is ok. If a boy falls down, dad will tell him to get up and brush it off, maybe even say something like “dirt don’t hurt” and expect the boy to be on his way. This make girls accustomed to receiving sympathy when they fall, and boys are just told to get up, you’ll feel better, problem solved.

2015-01-31 10.08.38

My dad, seen in the picture holding me over a fence (which I’m pretty sure he wasn’t supposed to do) wasn’t that kind of dad. If my brother fell down, Dad told him to get up and brush it off. If I fell down, I was told the exact same thing. At times, I sort of hated him for this. If anything, my dad pushed me a lot harder than he pushed my brother – whether academics, or sports, or other hobbies – he was always telling me where I could be better. I got an A; he’d ask why I didn’t get an A+. My team won a soccer game; he told me I looked a little tired toward the end, and I should get myself in better shape.

This gets to be exhausting after awhile. I just wanted to be celebrated for my accomplishments, not told it wasn’t good enough. That’s what I heard, every time he would ask why it wasn’t an A+.

I didn’t hear “you’re smart enough to have the top grades in all your classes,” instead I heard “this isn’t good enough.”

Now I’m an adult and understand why he did those things. A lot of people I know now who are successful, had a parent who was rough on them and was kind of an asshole. By default, kids (especially smart ones) can be lazy. They know they can be. They don’t have to study for the test, or ask questions to understand the homework. It pisses people off, but it’s true. So without that constant effing nagging – they’d continue to be lazy for the rest of their lives.

I don’t think my dad knew the ripple effect of what he was doing. The bar wasn’t set at “you did well for a girl,” but it was “did you come in absolute first place, boys or girls?” He was going to set the bar as high as possible, and not bring it down just because of my gender. He knew I was a smart kid, and wanted to make sure I reached my full potential. I was the first child, and I’m sure that’s a lot of the reason the bar was so high. It didn’t matter to my dad that I was a girl. He wouldn’t have been disappointed if my brother had been a girl, either. Even though my dad was the last chance for carrying on the family name, and without my brother the name would have died, he didn’t care. There was a lot of pressure from the family for my dad to have a boy.

“I was too worried about having a healthy baby, I didn’t care what it was as long as it was healthy,” he used to tell us. But, to the satisfaction of my aunts, a boy was born. So now the pressure is on my brother, I guess.

Even more powerful, it wasn’t because I was a girl that my dad was a pain in my ass. It was because I was smart, because I had the potential to do something real. He understood I’d have to deal with a lot worse if I was going to be a smart, successful, powerful woman someday. But he did it because he wanted his children to succeed – boy or girl.