A tad more respect wouldn’t hurt. That was the start of a debate with a male friend about women and I really wanted to hear about his point of view, because I firmly believe some of us are from Mars, and others from Venus, not that there’s anything wrong with that, not at all. And yet I never understood, whether men understand the role of women in our society and the burden it sets on our shoulders. Sometimes I feel like the “multipractic food processor” syndrome is a big hoax. It’s true, we’re used to all kinds of things, but the question that keeps running through my mind is this: Who cares? I believe that all the things we do in our life, we actually do for ourselves. Even if it means cleaning the apartment, taking a sick day, when the kinds are under the weather, going back to the store three times, because you keep forgetting something, or dragging all kinds of bags back home, like a Sherpa in a modern day country. Rings a bell? I think, or rather, I’m certain, we’re all very much alike. So respect to ourselves, to draw a line here and there and tell yourself “that’s enough”, and not continue, not because of stubbornness, but simply because it’s not right, because deep inside you feel as though you’ve trampled every value and got lost along the way; because not everything is “I have to, have to, have to!, because life is also about stopping to smell the roses, and if you happen to not see any at the moment or nobody has given you any, it’s high time you go to the florist’s yourself. Yourself. Just like you go to the store or to pick up the kids, but instead do something solely for yourself, because of the unconditional love you feel for yourself.
I’ve always kept a diary and as it happens, now I don’t have a lot of time. So I make notes now and then, but it’s not the same. I miss the notebook that fuses my thoughts and my world, I miss the moments when I peacefully sat behind the kitchen desk with a pen in my hand, letting thoughts flow from my heart, everything that had burdened me. Now I keep bottling things up, because by the time things slow down in the evening, it’s so late I can barely drag myself to the computer to sort out the last couple of things, and I never go to bed before 1 a.m. That’s the way it is. And every single time I think it’s a good thing I have all those anti-wrinkle creams, because even though my organism resists getting up, every single morning due to lack of sleep, I remain blind and deaf to all warning signs and keep going, head-first through the wall, again. All women should pay themselves compliments for all the things we can do, and for all the things we know how to do.
As I mentioned, the “multipractic” syndrome is taken for granted, but it shouldn’t be. It doesn’t actually state anywhere that it’s normal to do so many things at the same time, not stop, smile, and feel like you’re dying at the end of the day and, of course, never complain. My darling ladies, what I’m trying to say is that we should all give ourselves a hug at least ten times a day and say out loud: “Well done, Wonder Woman! You’re the best in the world!” When was the last time I went to the movies? Not to see an animated movie with my beloved Sofia, which I am honored to do, of course, but in order to see a movie that I am personally interested in. It’s a good thing there are things such as Netflix, which allow you to stay in touch with the world with a slight time lapse, otherwise my favorite movie would still be Sex and the City, which, on second thought, is still better than, say, the even older E. T. … Do you know what I’m actually talking about? Time. And again, respect yourself. About how, here and there, we simply disappear, like clouds in the sky. Puff. Made of steam; and I still wonder, if anybody even notices. The right thing to do would be to invite ourselves to dinner, put on our best dress, pull our hair back, apply a gorgeous shade of red lipstick, wear high heel sandals and simply go. Not only to grab a sandwich, go for a dinner with a waiter, who serves your food with a smile, as candles softly light the table. The right thing to do would be to toast to ourselves, for just being a woman, because it’s such a magical thing, and it’s not given to everybody.
I miss life in New York, partly because of bookstores. That is where I get lost and wonder around like a spirit, smell the books and their perfume, dig around the shelves, take hours upon hours of quiet time for myself, when nothing special is happening, but at the same time, everything is. Those are moments I take for myself, which cannot be recreated and are so incredibly precious. That is when I get to simply be myself, without a mask, without pretense, without responsibilities, simply to get in touch with the current of life again. Every one of us senses it in her own way. It can be a moment in nature, shopping, having a cup of coffee, something small, but vital for our inner growth, so it’s important to have as many of these moments as possible; because they’re not insignificant, I would sooner say we make them so, because we persuade ourselves that we don’t need them. Everything is surplus in the time of the civilization we live in and the crazy tempo‒it’s as if we were constantly dancing rock’ n’ roll, which I love, but come on, give me a break! I’m only human. Sometimes, I submerge myself in a warm bath in the evening and start thinking about everything that goes on around me. It’s true and I agree with the remark my friend made that we don’t respect ourselves enough, we keep driving ourselves to the brink of collapse, which just makes everything we do all the more taken for granted, expected, and simply the way women do things. Because we can. And yet…is that really true?
Sometimes, all I want to do is to grab my suitcase. I would pack some makeup, my favorite dress and a plane ticket. Perhaps I’d add a book, a great perfume and all the positive attitude I can muster. Even that is respect.
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