I used to love watching Disney Princess movies, more for the songs than anything else. But when I watch them again, now that my mind is not so impressionable (or so I believe), a little angry feminist screams at every detail along the way. The Princess’ apparent fragility and lack of control over their own destiny only aids in the conditioning of young minds what a woman should be. I just needed to wait by my window and some day a knight in shining armor would help me escape from the cruelty of the world. A waiting game I fear my 30 year old sister continues to play, living encased in fantasy and missing out on true opportunity for happiness. This is of course why the Princess and the Frog movie switched it up, making the woman independently pursuing a dream. From waiting to pursuit, it’s a step in the right direction I guess, still off target since happiness and love do not have to be pursued. But that’s for another rant.
This is what we all hope for: the One. To love you no matter what, stand by you no matter what. I want to meet the manipulative businessman who implanted this idea in my mind. The writers of fairy tales. Read the REAL versions of those fairy tales, like the true story of the Three Little Pigs where the Wolf only wanted to borrow a cup of sugar. The transition seems to be heading toward new perspectives on classic tales like Into the Woods and Wicked. Those original tales are excellent starting points, lessons that will expand and be amended with experience. But do some of these generic ideas continue to govern how we approach issues like relationships? Does that foundation never get remodeled?
You meet a lot of Almosts, or Maybes, Possibles, and Definitely Nots in dating. But how do you really tell who is the One? Isn’t there supposed to be a sudden wave of excitement that halts time and warms you with a sensation that can only be described as love? No wait that’s an erection.
Perhaps there is no such thing as the One in the sense that fairy tales understand the concept. No Knight in Shining Armor. He probably wreaks anyway from wearing that armor all the time searching for you. Like wearing a cast for weeks and not being able to clean the skin. When it does come off it smells like molding cottage cheese and chili. Just imagine trying to undress him in a fit of passion:
Mm… yes. Oooh… uh. Oh, wait. Wait, how do I undo this? Maybe here. Doh, not there. Oh! Here we go. Okay, this piece unties from the bottom, which then allows this to be unclasped. But then how does this come off. Oh! Too heavy. OW! Foot.
And of course he insists you put the armor down gently because maintaining that blinding white sheen is a painstaking process. Buzz kill.
Whew. Okay, one section of upper arm done. Should I keep kissing him?
And you thought bras were complicated.
Okay, the armor’s finally off. But hark! What is that smell?
“Did you have beans earlier?”
Mm, sexy.
No Jenny, it doesn’t work like that. He’s a mystical prince, which means he can magically strip off his armor when he needs. Yes, how amazing.
OR perhaps we misinterpreted this idea of the perfect guy -more like completely dismantled and dissected the pieces, in my case. Perfect doesn’t mean someone who lives up to all your standards, who fits your every wish and expectation, who will sweep you off your feet and save you from the chaos around you. No. We were lied to. This notion supports a one-way dependency, reliance upon another to change one’s circumstances. It emphasizes hoping in the same way we hope that when we pray to our god for salvation, miraculously our sins will be forgiven and we will be renewed. (Doh! She didn’t just go there! Okay, don’t start I completely acknowledge the importance of asking for help once a while. I’m a woman, desperation is in my blood.) Yet, somehow he should know what I want, be attuned to all my dreams, fears, lusts, and fantasies; all that defines me. If he fits every detail of this ideal, would I finally be fulfilled? Will I be happy? Does attaining the desired elicit happiness? No of course not. We know that.
An ideal is meant to bandage the hurt inflicted by the rest of the world, by circumstance and fate. A source of energy to heal and comfort our bodies, our minds and souls. Perhaps my ideal was nothing more than my teddy bear, an imaginary friend, that voice to satisfy developmental needs that were not being met.
Let’s redefine perfect then. Perfect according to one’s standard, or perfect for you. Different ideas. The perfect person may simply be someone who knows you see yourself as messed up, can help you carry your baggage, accepts your flaws, gives you what you need more than what you want, and who you can do the same for. The perfect someone is not perfect by your standards, they just fit you. Someone you can be happy with most of the time and communicate well enough with to not kill the rest of the time. Someone you are willing to fight for. When I imagine disaster scenarios, matters of life and death, I believe without question that I would step between the reaper’s sickle and him. Yet I still hesitate with the words ‘I Love You’ even though its obvious to everyone around me that I do. Because I saved my love for my ideal and am relearning how to fall. Strange to be hung up on a figment of my imagination.
I wonder how it is possible to love one’s God, at the same time love one’s significant other equally. Perhaps because I do not separate that voice into different beings based on the purpose being served. The one I speak to for guidance is the same one I seek sexual stimulation from. I doubt religious persons do the same. But here again, my ideal is someone where all these needs can be derived from. Or else polygamy makes more sense. (Kidding! Don’t send me hate mail.)
Consider this instead. A perfect partner (remember our revised definition) satisfies some, or most of your needs, -if you can make it work- including a few wants on the side (Damn I can’t make a pictographic wink!), while the amazing abilities of our imagination fill in the rest.
Don’t hate me because I’m realistic. And beautiful. Like a princess. (Gag!!)
No comments:
Post a Comment