Little Red Riding Hood

The latter half of my university career continues to have a major impact on my life.  I believe the upper level years of university should be formative for anyone with a degree.  The upper level courses take you from a level of understanding to a level of thinking for yourself.  Looking back on it, I feel as if I didn't quite understand how to do this at that point, but the seeds were planted then.  Now, I can look back at many of the seeds planted by professors, my reading, and even my choices in courses taken to understand life on a deeper level.

One of the courses I randomly took was Children's Literature.  Some friends from my program thoroughly enjoyed children's literature and would often refer to books from their childhood as "high-art" books.  As I had never read most of them growing up, I felt left out, and like I would gain something from reading them even as an adult.  And so, I took a Children's Lit class hoping to gain a better childhood... It didn't change what happened to me as a child, but it did help me understand my world at the time.  For my first example, let's take Little Red Riding Hood, a classic fairy-tale derived from the oral Story of a Grandmother:

There was once a woman who had some bread, and she said to her daughter: "You are going to carry a hot loaf and a bottle of milk to your grandmother."
The little girl departed.  At the crossroads she met the bzou, who said to her: "Where are you going?
I'm taking a hot loaf and a bottle of milk to my grandmother."
"What road are you taking," said the bzou, "the Needles Road or the Pins Road?"...

Thus began my own journey to Grandmother's House...

The most popular (and feminist) analysis of this oral tale revolves around these two paths.  It is assumed that this path represents a woman's maturity.  During the popularity of this tale, it was customary for young women to spend a year working for a seamstress.  Although cloaked as a year of apprenticeship, the intention was more for refining one's self, or "maturing." Just another name for a Quarter Life Crisis?  Of course, if it were a real apprenticeship, the woman would find herself sewing clothes for the rest of her life, which always sounds like a dream come true! If the woman was business oriented, of course, this would have been.  And, during this time, "business oriented" meant that you would spend the rest of your life as a spinster. This time of "maturing" is represented by the path of the Pins, objects the young women would spend their time collecting as apprentices.  The other path, that of Needles, is suggestive of Prostitution.  In many European areas, during the height of this tale's popularity, prostitutes would wear a needle on their blouse to indicate their profession.

Despite the last hundred and fifty years, I have found that these two paths for women have not changed that much.  We may be able to run companies, fly planes, stay at home with our children, or choose whatever career we want, but we still have to fit in one of two sexual categories: spinster or prostitute.

So, what's wrong with being a spinster?

Hmmm...now, let me think: 

• The occasional case of the Lonelies: a dipildating disorder often accompanied with depression, the drinking of red wine, alone, in your apartment, while searching through the most recent on-line dating service to catch your attention.
• The constant feeling of inadequacy because you don't begin every story with "we," "my boyfriend says," or "while waiting for ____ to get home..."
• Quietly grinding your teeth in agony when people laugh at the movie, "40-Year-Old Virgin" as you fear you may awkwardly become one.
• Having new friends look at you in awe when you reveal your curse of singledom since "You're so outgoing! How did that happen?"
• Feeling ridiculous about beginning every story with "my cat," although he's the only male who has the capacity to love you (...because you feed him and he has to).
• Cheating at the "Have You Ever" game so that people don't realize you really are that innocent...and still being the most sober person at the end of the night...
• And above all that, despite the short flings you've had with random men over the years, a friend mistakes you for a lesbian and you begin to believe that's why your relationships have never lasted longer than a month... You then begin to regale her with tales of your most recent heterosexual "conquests."

Oh, now, wait...that last one is not really the life of a "spinster." Having short meaningless relationships with men does not mean a woman will end up alone for the rest of her life.  No, not at all.  In fact, it means she fits on the other path.  She's a slut!

What's wrong with being a slut?

• Winning the "Have You Ever" drinking game...even by ignoring the few items brought up because "what you don't remember, didn't really happen." 
• The nickname of "BJ" for all the work you do in the men's washroom...and never being able to wear pigtails again.
• Having the condom fall out in the hostel's communal washroom and trying to remember the man's first name, let alone hoping to find his phone number.
• Your best friend from high school looks you up on Facebook after spotting you on the latest edition of "Girls Gone Wild." 
• Being drugged by a friend of a friend because you wore a mini-skirt to the party when everybody else was wearing jeans.  Believing that you deserved it: "It's not rape if you giggle..."
• Knowing that the scariest thing to come from a one-night-stand is not a pregnancy, but allowing your coworkers to believe that's why you need to leave before the clinic closes for the night...

Is this really where the Sexual Revolution got us?  Option A: miserable and alone. Option B: abused and diseased? Yes, in the World of Pessimism.  I've only provided one side of the story.  Can't these two options have their silver linings?  Maybe...

Being A Slut Is Not That Bad...

Have you ever watched Sex and The City (SATC)? If not...well, do me a favour and watch an episode of it.  Here you will find the BEST example of a sexually confident woman, Samantha Jones.  And, despite Ariel Levy's rant against Girls Gone Wild, this ideal of a sexual confident woman existed BEFORE the show gained its notoriety for allowing women to expose their bare chests in order to win a free T-shirt.  In fact, I have a memory from grade school (of all places) where we discussed the loss of one's "V-card" based on how an older girl walked.  Later, I would realize that losing one's virginity does not change one's posture.  Being confident with one's body, on the other hand, does.  Are the two intrinsically linked?

Being A Spinster Ain't That Bad Either...

No.  Confidence is superfluous to sexual activity...or maybe that's the other way around.  Just think about those women you know who are so very focused on their careers.  Climbing to the top of the company has had NOTHING to do with their level of sexual activity.  That's right - smart women don't have to sleep their way to the top.  And that young woman "saving herself" for marriage has some of the most amazing confidence I've seen in somebody that young!  People mock them, people judge them, but spinsters by choice are the most wonderful peopl I know...if only because they never seem to get all wrapped up in this whole concept of the two different paths laid out in front of us.

So?

A few weeks ago, on a similarly sunny afternoon, I found myself reading old women's magazines in a library I used to frequent during the beginning of this Crisis.  I'm not even sure what it was I was looking for, but what I found was one of the most helpful articles I have ever found in a women's magazine.  And I've read a lot of magazines since university - specifically searching for the kind of inspiration and confidence that this article was able to provide me.

The writer went through her own journey through the troublesome "single" twenties...and thirties.  Her embarassment came from always having to tell new dates how long her last serious relationship had been, rather than the non-existence of one.  She went through stacks of books on "how to catch 'the one,'" be the "perfect girlfriend," or even just how to "pick up men."  All of them said the same thing: change yourself - be perfect - and he'll find you.  "Bullpucky!" she said.  Many of her friends in relationships were complete and utter messes, yet they'd found somebody to spend the rest of their disastrous lives with.  How? She realized they had just been lucky.  It had been magic that finally worked for her friends...not some miracel book, cream, or a set of rules that they had followed...

So, she waited.  She focussed on her career, and her life, and may not have made herself "perfect," but was happy enough with who she was, as most women in their forties finally become.  And then "magic" happened.  She started dating a divorcee who eventually asked the inevitable question, "how long since your last long-term relationship?"  Her response of the last fifteen years of dating disasters did not scare this "magical" man awy... "Hmmm, their bad luck, I guess, and my good luck..."

And Other Fairy Tales We Create For Ourselves....

So, it's not the girls of the 21st century who need the fairy tale stories anymore, but the single women.  Here we are in a society where the average age of one's first marriage is 27 and we begin to worry about getting there by 19.  We need all the stories of "magic" to get us through those next eight to twenty years if we have any hope of remaining sane throughout it all...

We're not alone, though.  I realize that this whole discussion of heterosexual dating choices has been entirely based on the woman's perspective, but men struggle with it, too.  And that's the real aftermath of the sexual revolution.  We've gotten the vote, we've gotten the position of CEO, and then we threw out the wolf with the big bad heart ("all the more to love you with, my dear") just to avoid ever having to walk down those two paths again.

Maybe that's why I have such a problem with "progress"...

Defining The Quarter Life Crisis

I've been working on this one for a little bit, so I apologize in the delay...

I was at a party the other night, and I was asked what I do now that I've left the bank. After answering that question a few times prior to the party, I jumped right in with the fact that I am blogging. The music blog is the easiest one to understand, but I couldn't leave out this one. This is more of your traditional blog - sub-regular rants on life, getting older, and the difficulties of merely being alive and having emotions - yet it is the one that I talk the least about. So, standing in front of a dozen or so people, I began my explanation...

This blog was actually the beginning of it all. Well, no, that's not entirely correct. The first one was supposed to be about my travels in England, but that didn't pan out. So, then, when I got back I started this one. Remember, two years ago when I faced the possibility of being 100% unemployed for like six weeks? That I would like to mark as the beginning of the crisis. (...although truthfully, I wasn't all too rational in my decision to move to England, either,... I guess I'll just leave it up to future analysts of my autobiography...)

After running through a quick list of what I am doing as a writer (and the side jobs, as well), the party broke down into smaller groups. This is always ideal. I hate parties where everybody tries to talk to one another and you just sit around in a big circle pretending to all care about the same subject matter. I never connect well with a large group of strangers, but I hit it off BIG TIME one-on-one with new friends. (My friend would later thank me for bridging the gap between her different groups of friends, which I took as a huge compliment. I love meeting new people, so I love going to parties where I have the opportunity to do exactly as I did there. It was nice that my skill was appreciated. AND, if you're ever throwing a mixer with a wide array of people, you know who to call!)

As several conversations erupted, I found myself at the corner of the buffet table, talking to a scientist. He seemed interested in my blogs, and we began talking about this one. I went through a brief history of it, and he seemed confused. "What do you mean by 'Quarter Life Crisis'?"

"Well," I began. "You know how people, when they're in their late forties, early fifties and they suddenly change careers or start dating somebody half their age?"

His confusion did not seem to be lessening, so I continued.

"Well, I'm too young to be doing that!" (I paused for a laugh, but there was none...) "...but, well, I think there is this common feeling among people of our generation, you know, that are in their twenties and faced with similar concerns about their life. They start asking themselves, 'is this REALLY what I want to do for the next forty or fifty years?'; 'will I be happy with this decision five years from now?'; or sometimes even, 'why haven't I accomplished that yet?!?' These are all valid concerns, and, I've found that writing about it makes me feel better. And my readers, when they comment, are going through the same things."

He still looked confused, so I paused to let it sink in.

"What does 'Quarter' mean?"

My new friend's first language was not English, and, like always, I had answered the question of my own agenda rather than the real question. (Does anybody see Being a Better Listener on my New Year's Resolution list?)

My explanation got me thinking, and, as it turns out, when I dwell on a question, it turns up in a lot of my conversations. Later that week, I was talking to a customer at work and discovered that he had been going through a similar situation for the last few years. Unlike myself (who ran kicking and screaming from the institution of higher learning after they handed me a piece of paper covered in calligraphy), this new friend had hid from his fears through school and travel. I was a bit jealous... The real world is actually a terrible place to hide from one's uncertainty about the future. I felt better knowing that he was going to graduate this spring without any better understanding of what he should be doing with his life than what I have. And he's in the Scared Stage. I'd never want to go back to the Scared Stage!

The problem, I think, is that we have so many decisions in front of us. Normally, I discuss this with my fellow females since we have the feminism of the 80s to thank for our decision-making problems. Sure, women could do whatever they wanted to before the 80s, but now there's even more pressure for us to choose not only whatever it is that men did before us, but to be HAPPY with our choice. And it's not even about choosing not to have babies or to have babies (trust me, with this war on right now, I'm definitely feeling the embracing of the latter over the former!). We can even choose to have babies and have partners who stay home to raise them. In fact, it's almost like our choices SHOULD be more original. The last few generations have sent so many shockwaves through the history books that there is this tiny little bit of pressure resting on the shoulders of all womankind to do something even greater with our lives. We all should aspire to be the next Oprah...

I apologise for the helter skelter of that rant. I've been holding in it for a few days, now. You see, over the holidays, I brought up Rosie the Rivetter, and how she has an action figure created after her. I love it. I love Rosie the Rivetter! When I brought her up, though, there was a conversation about how much the campaign she represented helped get women into the work force. I won't deny that the campaigns to get women to work during the war were impressive, and widespread enough to convince even the most conservative individuals in the far corners of this country to consider allowing women to do the hard labour of the men they had sent off to fight without being too concerned about that woman's children, or her 'delicate nature.'

It wasn't the beginning of feminism, though, nor was it the end. The post-war emphasis on family and motherhood certainly sent a vast majority of those women packing from the factories back to their pantries. The celebration of suburbia only continued that trend, making motherhood once again an issue of class moreso than a natural power to be proud of. (If you could afford to have children and not have the wife work as well, you were of the middle class or above.) Then came the pill, and more and more women could postpone their baby-having days to build a career. Some "spinsters" (women who never marry) were even truly successful in the careers that came their way due to the civil rights movements of the 60s.

Then, well, we can't forget the Sexual Revolution; if only because that makes us believe that Britney Spears is being really powerful when she pouts just a little bit and 'allows' her lover to physically abuse her. (If you don't understand, just ask, and I'll break it down for you.) After the sexually-charged 70's, though, we are faced with the 80's, where Dolly Pardon bemoans working a full-time job, Cyndi Lauper claims "Girls Just Wanna Have Fun," and, okay, maybe we should blame Madonna - just a little bit - for what we've allowed Britney Spears to get away with...

Except that, Madonna had class. Dolly Pardon had pride. And Cyndi Lauper was filthy rich! They may not have been pressuring women to get into the workforce, but they didn't have to. Women coming of age at this time had known their entire lives that they could do ANYTHING they wanted to when they grew up. And they did! Yeah, yeah, I know there's still a glass ceiling, and there's still social taboos that need to be kicked out of the office buildings women are now dominating,... but that leaves us with a lot to live up to!

Now do you understand why I had to give up the feminist cause for something that needed more work? I'm a bit terrified of what my foremothers expect from me...

Don't worry, I know it's difficult for men, too. All those girls who were told they could do anything grew up alongside those boys that weren't told anything about the future. Hmmmm....yeah, I guess it could be worse. I could have had that plan that had been given to my gender for the last few generations ripped from my hands by some scary spinsters, had it split in half and only be given back the top part of it. If I thought reaching that glass ceiling was going to be tough, imagine what life would be like if that's where I was meant to start!

Don't worry, I explained what a 'quarter' was to my new friend...