When I hear about solo women travelers,
And solo women hikers
And bikers, and racers, and bakers, and doers,
I am filled with immeasurable glee
And I want them to do what they do even more
And document it for a current me
One who intends on rectifying her recent descent into fear
And wishes to return to when she did not see her gender as a mere
Condition in need of rectifying.
And it’s not about me wanting women to be stupid,
As my parents seem to think,
For what is stupid about wanting to create a culture of safety rather than one of strife?
In what way am I silly for no longer wanting women to be stifled and stratified?
I can’t think of anything sillier than how we’ve always viewed these things—
Of how a woman who wishes to live, everywhere and at any time, is labeled as foolish when her wish is stolen
And the person who stole it goes untouched by such labels
As if stealing is more acceptable than being stolen from.
When has stealing been more acceptable than being stolen from?
It’s not about wanting women to be stupid
It’s about wanting them to be free
It’s about recognizing that the problem in society
isn’t women wanting to soar,
It’s thieves trying to steal our agency.
It’s thieves not understanding our humanity.
It’s the way they view us as clay to be molded, insidiously.
The way that encouraged competition slices us like wire cutters
And carving tools, chip, scrape, and prod until we are “perfect:” unrecognizable, shaped, and quiet.
It’s how fiery shame burns skin like a kiln
And we’re taught to accept this through religion, media, film.
It’s how we’re socialized to place these unstable labels of “men” and “women” over our being
Rather than reminded that above all, we are all human beings.
