When you travel alone you see people that would have been blurred out. The woman adjacent to you at a mouthwatering restaurant, could be your date for the evening. Waiters may bring your food, but they also leave their phone numbers. And life becomes bold in a unique and intensely beautiful way.
This happened in Athens, Greece as an elegantly dressed woman and I ate alone under fairy lights. We both ignored each other at first, seducing our meals with slow precision. But when there was nothing left to taste, she came to savor a conversation.
“Traveling by oneself is luxurious, don’t you think?” She began. “I almost didn’t make it because I had to get this pacemaker.” She pointed to a bump underneath her chest. Smiling, we fell deeply and passionately into conversation about living ones life. The seeming risks it entails. The healing it requires. But more importantly what it looks like to CREATE instead of fall in line.
At 70, this beauty was clearly feral. She also got the numbers of waiters on receipts and napkins. And because we had both thoroughly ravished our dinners, the staff brought us free wine. I was reminded by her that everything is birthed from desire. And that to come back to our wild natures it takes a dramatic shift in the conversation we have in our heads.
I’ve been thinking recently about what separates a woman who is feral from a domesticated woman. One is that a woman who is truly alive can have what she wants. It doesn’t matter if you are 70 with a heart condition or 39 with an overbite. People fall in love with the things that give them permission. They long for the things that hum beneath the skin.
A caged woman doesn’t know this parallel world. She knows to-do lists and pretty. Her energy is bound in becoming worthy, not expressing her passions. She is looking for permission, as opposed to flinging her YES into the world. She is waiting to be acknowledged for her goodness. And what she receives are more rules.