I think we are altogether too willing to settle. To see time as an impending ticking clock to be contended with through denial or fear. We try to become a certain type of person that we believe will interest others, as though reading minds suddenly became our forte. As though we will stand out while at the same time creating the limiting box in which to stand. We mold and contort ourselves according to the opinions and visions of others, entangled in which thoughts are ours or theirs. Objective clarity can seem nearly impossible when the thoughts are presented by those you love and respect.

I think that we often fail to recognize the world of choice that is before us – more than at any other time in human history. The sheer expanse of options is paralyzing, creating indecisiveness out of a set of imposed realities that we construct to find order in this chaos. To make sense of it. It is as though, by having so much choice in the world, it has made us afraid that we will be passed by altogether too easily.

The poem below is by one of my favorite slam poets, Sarah Kay. This piece is chosen out of love for all of the beautiful women in my life, each one of whom I have been unbelievably blessed to know and have by my side. It is for the strength and wisdom that you hold, and which you continue to learn and provide. But most importantly, this is for the times where you do not always see the beauty that I see. Where the mirror holds judgment instead of reflection, self-doubt instead of certainty.

This is for all of those women who have forgiven others, but not themselves. Who have held themselves or been held to standards that they should never be expected to meet. Who have struggled to combine feeling broken with looking desirable. Who have ever been made to feel that what they know to be true of themselves was not good enough. Who have hidden their light out of fear that it wasn’t appealing to shine so fluorescently bright. Who have been with someone who didn’t have the strength to let them grow. Who have shrunk themselves to create space within which they could hide, out of fear of taking up too much room.

This is for you.

The Type
by Sarah Kay

If you grow up the type of woman men want to look at,
You can let them look at you.
But do not mistake eyes for hands,
Or windows, or mirrors.
Let them see what a woman looks like.
They may not have ever seen one before.

If you grow up the type of woman men want to touch,
You can let them touch you.
Sometimes, it is not you they are reaching for.
Sometimes it is a bottle, a door, a sandwich, a Pulitzer, another woman –
But their hands found you first.
Do not mistake yourself for a guardian, or a muse, or a promise, or a victim or a snack.
You are a woman –
Skin and bones, veins and nerves, hair and sweat
You are not made of metaphors,
Not apologies, not excuses.

If you grow up the type of woman men want to hold,
You can let them hold you.
All day they practice keeping their bodies upright.
Even after all this evolving it still feels unnatural,
Still strains the muscles, holds firm the arms and spine.
Only some men will want to learn what it feels like to curl themselves into a question mark around you,
Admit they do not have the answers they thought they would by now.
Some men will want to hold you like the answer.
You are not the answer.
You are not the problem.
You are not the poem, or the punch line, or the riddle, or the joke.

Woman, if you grow up the type men want to love,
You can let them love you.
Being loved is not the same thing as loving.
When you fall in love,
It is discovering the ocean after years of puddle jumping.
It is realising you have hands.
It is reaching for the tightrope after the crowds have all gone home.
Do not spend time wondering if you are the type of woman men will hurt.
If he leaves you with a car alarm heart.
You learn to sing along.
It is hard to stop loving the ocean,
Even after it’s left you gasping, salty.
So forgive yourself for the decisions you’ve made,
The ones you still call mistakes when you tuck them in at night,
And know this.
Know you are the type of woman who is searching for a place to call yours.
Let the statues crumble.
You have always been the place.
You are a woman who can build it yourself.
You are born to build.