The men I’ve been romantic with have mostly been men I’ve wanted to become.
They pursue life like hungry animals. They are well acquainted with its aches and drunk with passion. They are wild and dreaming men. Highway men with the horizon in their eyes. Musical and stoic men. Moonlit men and men bent towards the wind. Men who have suffered but walk tall and talk big. Men who are not afraid to pick themselves a flower every now and again.
They are some of my favorite stories; ones that I love to be a part of, ones that I love to tell. They are muses in my eye. But at what point does the artist lose herself to the muse?
In a way, we seek to complete the masculine and feminine in our relationships. These are strong qualities that don’t necessarily need to be placed on the gender binary, but we are attracted to nonetheless because want it for ourselves. Maybe it’s something we believe we lack. In these men I find the adventure, the fire, the charm, the stoicism, the freedom that I romanticize for myself. But most of all, I find the confidence. Whether that confidence is internalized or not, there is a sense that he is not afraid to take up space, but that’s because we are often in a man’s space.
Although the scale has been balancing, we still live in a man’s world. On average, when men express themselves, they are not questioning themselves in the way that women often do: “Is this essay worth reading?”, “Did I do a good job?”, “Does this outfit accurately represent me?”. Although it impacts all of us, imposter syndrome weighs heavily on the female mind, particularly in the workforce. This self-doubt has talked me out of more things than I’d like to admit. I’ve had a hard time even writing these past two paragraphs because what authority do I have to speak on the psychology of relationships? To gender qualities? To speak as a “we” instead of an “I”? Historically it has been men that define the “we”. I can have my turn even if I’m wrong.
Throughout the majority of my Becoming, my idols have mostly been men. When I was younger and spongier, they influenced the way I saw the world and how I saw myself. I compartmentalized my suffering because that’s what “strength” looked like to me, because that’s what these masculine icons of mine did. It made them brooding and sexy and apparently stoic when in reality it was eating them alive. They were all creatives in one way or another which means that inevitably their feelings were expressed in their craft, but mostly they were intellectually leaning rather than emotional.
So anyways, the men I’ve more or less loved or at least pursued. I often compare them to the male writers, painters, thinkers that have influenced me throughout my life. In a way, I’ve tried to make it in a man’s world by either becoming like them or being desired by them. This is not to say that I only exist in relation to men. It is also not to say that they only exist for my fantasy. It is to say I might have a type. It is to say that I’ve attempted some delicate balance of femininity to remain desirable, and masculinity to be confident and assertive.
The other night, I was nursing a tender heart. I lit the candles in my room, and uncharacteristically, played what I might describe as girly dream-pop. I read some essays by other sensitive women. All of a sudden I experienced what I can only define as gender euphoria.
I felt incredibly at home in my femininity in a way that I had not in quite some time. Sure, I identify as a woman and I embrace that in all sorts of ways but in this moment it was more of a feeling. My softness, my tenderness, was enough, because I had in that moment surrounded myself with other women that weren’t trying to be anything other than women. They were embracing their sensitivity, their vulnerability, their dreaming hearts. It reminded me that it is absolutely not cringey to be a Big-Feeler in a way that some male-dominated rhetoric has made it out to be.
Since I moved to Arcata a year ago, I haven’t quite found the femme circles that had grounded me so much back in the central-coast. Back in those golden rolling hills, the women in my community made a lot of space for intentional femme gathering. Those spaces were some of the most powerful social experiences I’ve ever had. It was like being a flower in a blooming garden. Together we could connect to and amplify the beauty, magic, and ache that is at the heart of the female spirit. This consistent, intentional connection with femininity made me feel at home in the flirty, playful, dreamy, essence of my womanhood. It taught me to be a confident woman in the world rather than study the confidence of a man in a man’s world.
Once again, the men I’ve canoodled with. The passion, the fire, the spontaneity, the creativity, the confidence in them that I romanticize for myself — plot twist — already exists within me. We seek wholeness in our relationships, to complete the “masculine and feminine”. When we feel lack, we seek completion. When I’m feeling half-a-woman and lacking confidence is when I believe that these desirable traits are something to obtain instead of what they really are — a reflection. Because when I’m lacking confidence it’s often because I feel that I’m not making it in the man’s world, whether it be through desirability or not feeling accomplished enough.
These men with their longing and their fever, their passion and their yearning. They’re stories I love to tell, I love to be a part of, but when I’m at home in my womanhood is when I remember that I am the main character.
It would be hard for me to not acknowledge the gender-spectrum in an essay like this. This essay uses a lot binary vocab. I’m curious about what anyone on the gender-spectrum thinks about the idea of masculinizing themself to make it in a man’s world, including men themselves. Let’s talk about it.
As much as I’d like to accurately represent all my thoughts and feelings and cover every base about this subject (and any other for that matter), words will always fall short. Rather than aiming for exactness I am trying to dance with my illuminations in a way where you and I both can learn something new. When I’m writing I’m exploring, and even when I press publish there’s still so many tangents I could have followed. Every essay is like a bunch of knots I’m trying to untangle but end up making other tangles and I’ve gotta stop somewhere.
xoxoxo
Yes. Lol. Did I love him? or did I want to live like him?
Love this playlist too
Loved this