I’m a feminist.
I must be a feminist. Why else would I feel guilty admitting to my best friend that I’m finally at a place in life where I’m willing to let a man take care of me?
GASP! Shock! Horror! Did I really say that? I did. And now I’m going to explain.
It says something about our culture (and me) that writing what I just wrote puts me immediately on the defense—like there’s something wrong with me and there’s something wrong with taking care of someone. I bandied around the idea of using the phrase “letting a man take care with me.” But figured, WTF? Why start beating around the bush at this stage of the game.
I’ve spent my entire life proving to myself and the world (as if the world cared) that I’m as good as a man, smart as a man, capable as a man and as tough. For God’s sake, I broke the glass ceiling in network sports television in 1977 and was editing Howard Cosell’s half-time highlight packages before most women could spell Equal Opportunity Employment.
I learned to shoot a rifle at age eight. I’ve trained horses, trained dogs, and worked as a framing carpenter building houses. I’ve camped around the US and Canada, backpacked across Great Britain and traveled extensively through South and Central America alone. I’ve spent more time living by myself than with all the husbands and lovers combined who have come and gone over four decades of intimate relationship.
I know how to take care of myself.
But do I really? Is the measure of “taking care” how long and hard I can work? Is “taking care” about proving how strong I am mentally and physically? Is it about proving how tough and enduring I can be? If that’s what taking care of myself is about, I’ve already got the prize in the bag. But I gotta tell you, at 62 the bag is getting heavy. Really really heavy.
You see, as much as I’ve been guy-tough, I’ve also followed the path of heart, letting my soul, my gut and my intuition pull me this way and that—into careers and out; into relationships and marriages and out, into cabins in the woods and condos and kayaks and RVs—and out. I’ve lived in high society and scrabbled through old purses and coat pockets to find enough money to buy a cup of coffee. And it’s made me rich: rich in experience and wonder. At the end of my days I will not look back and wish I’d done the things I wanted to do. I will have done them all—or at the very least worked as best I could to accomplish them.
Is that taking care of myself? I do believe it is.
But now there are new definitions showing up. I’m finally taking good care of my body—not just to keep it sexy and strong but because I want to keep it vibrantly alive. My mortality is waving at me, and rarely do I spend an evening drinking the guys under the table anymore. Forget the martinis and tequila. Been there, done that. Green tea, anyone?
But it’s more than just that. There’s an urge, a pull to be more, to be complete. And what the hell is that, anyway?
When I was very young I thought being complete meant having a man in my life. Then I discovered the spiritual path and thought it meant being some sort of enlightened guru in a cave. But lately I’ve begun to sense it has more to do with becoming a whole human being capable of all human emotions and expression.
So far I’ve walked my path mostly wearing men’s moccasins, toughing life out. Now I’m yearning for a softer expression. I’m yearning for the rest of me to show up. And strange as it may seem, I feel that letting a strong man into my life to “take care” of me would be a healing thing.
Because isn’t taking care about being supportive? Doesn’t it mean looking out for the best interests of the one you love? Doesn’t it mean nurturing? Tender-heartedness? Only wanting to provide the best for the beloved other, helping them shine?
Guys do really well at providing. They love providing. It’s their way of giving. Isn’t it a gift back to a man to joyfully receive? Not TAKE out of neediness—but to receive what they have to give in the fullness of love?
Women do really well at nurturing. At their best, when women feel secure, they know how to let life and love lead. They show man the way – they keep him on the path of heart. And he, in turn, makes it a safe journey. Together they find their way home.
Alone or in relationship, completeness comes with the union of opposites.