open letter to women

from the archives 10.15.22

I am a man and it’s all I’ve ever known. So it’s hard for me to understand the way that you are. Let me try to explain.

I wear my power on my sleeve. I value strength above all — physical, intellectual, personal/spiritual. I try to climb higher than other men, and I burn with shame and desire when I see a man climbing higher than me. Inferiority is my greatest fear.

I sometimes feel that deep in my mind there is another creature, emotional and flighty, like a woman. I try to connect with her. Sometimes it’s easy and she’s right below the surface. Other times she eludes me, or I reject her. Sometimes she’s gone so long I forget she exists. But when we do connect, and we are in synchrony, I feel complete, and I’m driven to make art.

You are real, physical, smaller and weaker. But I’ve never found you helpless. You hold a strange power over me — I find myself watching as you pass. It’s not a conscious choice. My eyes are drawn to you. It is your decision to look back, or not. Sometimes you do — and I freeze up. And you walk away.

But sometimes I take that first step. And together we talk and we move and we think and we dream. And we find that sharing our lives feels a lot better than experiencing every moment alone.

You are like me, but not. Not opposites, but complements. We fill each others’ empty spaces.

You show, so I look. I speak, so you listen.

I lead, so you follow, at least on the surface. Underneath, however, who’s really being chased? Who’s really been captivated?

I’ll tell you that you’re beautiful. You’ll tell me that I’m funny. I’ll tell you about the pain — I’ve got a lot of it. There’s no pressure to reciprocate, or to understand. This is my load to bear. The strongest men withstand the greatest pain. We’ll find a little bit of ourselves in each other.

Then we’ll part ways, and we’ll both be alone again. And we’ll let go but we won’t forget. And I’ll keep moving, nurturing this new bit of pain you’ve left for me. Pain, when nurtured, grows into art.

And one day you’ll walk by again and you’ll catch my eye and I’ll take that first step and we’ll fall back into the dance, and we’ll wonder if it ever ends, or if we’re doomed to keep trying and falling and failing and letting go, over and over again, forever.

But I can’t help myself anyways. No one is really in control of the feeling. I’ll let you know if I ever find the answer.

Love you. Miss you. Hope to see you soon.