The Kind of Woman I Want to Be

 

I’m undecided about the kind of woman I want to be. I swing wildly between wanting to be two dramatically different women. And I worry endlessly about being the boring, blah, in-between version instead (which in turn, makes me more boring and blah).

the woman i want to be

You see, I really admire women who put it all out there. The slightly crude, drops an f-bomb or two, tells it like it is, woman. I want to be the woman who doesn’t give a crap what anyone thinks of me. She doesn’t embarrass easily. She’s confident, she’s fun, and she can throw back a tequila shot (something I’ve never been able to do). Some days I feel like her but most days, I’m not so bold.

The other woman I want to be is the poised, articulate, academic type. She’s respected and confident. She’s knowledgable about world issues and wants to leave the world a better place. She has the drive and the passion to make that happen. She knows which fork to use first at a dinner party and she can pronounce things on a fancy menu properly. Sometimes I want to be her too. [I especially wanted to be her last week when I ordered a Caprese sandwich and pronounced it caa-preece and was corrected by the waiter – it’s caa-pray-zay. This was followed by extreme embarrassment.]

I just feel like instead of just boldly being one of these women (because I am each of these, on occasion), I’m settling for somewhere in the middle. And what if that middle is just blah? What if I’m the diluted version of the woman I want to be?

I expressed this to N one day. What if I’m just a very regular person? What if there isn’t anything truly unique about me? [Insert something about “if I died” here] To which N replied, “those are really dark thoughts.” Um yeah, I guess they are. Or maybe it’s just me coming to the realization that I’m not a special snowflake, a frequent complaint about my generation.

I spend too much time worrying about making other people happy and not offending anyone. About being well-liked and not rocking the boat. And yet on the occasion that I do make the crude joke or drop a sassy one-liner, I often feel guilt later. Was it the wrong thing to say? Were people offended? Then I worry that because of this, that my words, my expressions of self, are so filtered that I lose all individuality.

I have zero desire to have fresh-cut flowers in my house all the time, to pay $140 for a pair of rubber boots (I’m looking at you, Hunters), to do Crossfit, hang tasselled garland anywhere, add glitter to random objects (I hate glitter…sorry friends, you can unfollow me now), own white furniture, or hang inspirational quotes on my wall. Kick me out of blog world, I just don’t.

I can handle being different in terms of “stuff”. But sometimes I worry that I’m doing the same thing with my personality. Altering myself to fit in with others expectations.

I want a life less filtered. I want to figure out how to be the most me version of me. I’m a work in process. But please, please, just don’t let me be boring.

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