home sick today. first time in a while. i've got a wicked-ass head cold and i'm worn out, people.
it's been a long time since i've swum in this blog-lake o'mine.
i watched documentaries today: "advanced style", "20 feet from stardom" and "the punk singer". a lot of women. if you haven't seen these docs, you should.
i finished with the kathleen hanna movie, and i'm sitting here in my messy house, my dog snoring, using part of the table that isn't taken up by the enormous 1000-piece puzzle of jungle animals that my family is working on...
i'm sitting here feeling fired up, wired to my sick core, thinking about my life. reflecting upon it, as it were. watching "the punk singer" brought a lot of memories forward again; bits and pieces of myself that i let sink to the bottom somewhere, covered up by what is right in front of me--namely my family, my children, my job.
i wasn't on the bikini kill train back in the early 90s. i had found ani difranco, and she satisfied my need for a female feminist musical role model. i remember reading about bikini kill--seeing the announcements for concerts in Los Angeles, but they scared me. the idea of punk rock scared me. it was too much for this massachusetts girl.
watching the documentary today, i was blown away by the power of the music, by what the riot grrrls were trying to do, trying to bring to pop culture. what kathleen hanna had to offer me that i was not present for. it's all a little bit heartbreaking, as i think back to what i missed.
i can't help thinking that i could've been one of those women, either in the audience or somehow up on stage. those were my people, save for the fact that i already had a boyfriend whom i would marry a few short years later; save for the fact that i felt the need to have children, to settle down, to feel security; save for the fact that i wasn't brave enough for all of it.
there is something in me that makes me crave the bravery i left behind. it was there in small amounts while i was at calarts--when i wrote about kicking the shit out of mike tyson after her raped desiree washington--or when i jumped up on the bar at the roxy to perform my monologue about my shaved head--or when i got naked on stage and talked about the perfect body and how it wasn't mine--but in retrospect all of that shit just seems played out, like everyone did that, all of my like-minded women tried those moments on for size just like me. and sure, there is bravery in that, but was there really originality? revolutionary thought? brilliance?
probably not.
i had this idea that i would somehow continue to create art and subvert the patriarchy my entire life. i really did. i thought i would save teenage girls from themselves and from fashion magazines, and be a part of the third-wave feminism that i so fiercely believed in. and then what happened to all of this fervor? it got redirected to wedding plans, preschool teaching, pregnancies, toddlers, daily lives of dogs and bills being paid and the agonizing consistencies of what has come to be my life. my life.
there is nothing wrong with this life of mine. it is a good and well-placed life, full of love and happiness and promise. i have not failed myself, but i am sad today.
i miss being brave, whatever it looked like. i miss that woman who used to ride her anger around town, looking for fights because she knew she was the one with justice and truth on her side. i miss the person who thought she could be a part of something that could change minds.
then again, maybe i just miss the spotlight. maybe i miss the idea that i could be the lead singer, the one in the kickass t-shirt and tights, screaming her words while the audience begged for more. don't all people want to have that moment? is this just another piece of my status-quo-ness coming through?
i remember back then when i was writing about being a girl that i had fury in my pocket, and all it took was one good word or look to make me grab hold of it and wield it like a machete. but even then, sometimes my anger felt disingenuous. like i couldn't be that mad, because i had never been raped. like i wasn't allowed to give over to it all because my childhood had been relatively normal. like i wasn't allowed to just be mad at the world the way it was, because i wasn't willing to go all out for it. i wasn't willing to give it all up to go on my quest because deep down inside i was too scared to give up what was comfortable and real to me.
i was lacking real courage, it seems to me now. but maybe not.
i think it's ridiculous that right now, sitting here at the table, no lights on and the cloudy sky keeping my head and house dim; right now i want to put together a band of 40-year old women who still have something to say about the state of things, who don't know how to play instruments but want to do it anyway, who can somehow put aside all of their kids' schedules and daily committments to get together and become a force for good. right now, that's what i want to do.
i could still be brave, i think.
