Bessie and Me: Shifting Gears

Yes, you read the title correctly, 'Women versus Women." I know. It SHOULD read 'Women Supporting Women."  All too often we don't. Oh, we like to say we do. But are we REALLY lifting each other up in our singular and/or group endeavors? These are my thoughts this morning after a particularly agonizing 'discussion' about diversity within the motorcycle community and social media. The discussion brought my own personal experiences with the topic of women supporting women full circle since the release of my book Riding Soul-O. It is not my intention to cast disparity, bash my gender, or create additional angst. My intention is to urge women to engage in a little soul searching and self reflection on how we treat other women. I became politically aware in the late sixties when the 'Women's Movement' was just gaining traction. Feminist icons such as Bella Abzug, Gloria Steinem, Betty Friedan, and Angela Davis shared the national stage with sometimes...

Cultural Lullaby I ran across this term in my morning reading then I went for a walk and my brain caught fire with the concept. When my brain catches fire it ignites a explosion of words on my computer screen. I Googled the term and only found the definition for 'lullaby.' We all know the concept of 'lullaby,' a soft, lyrical tune we sing to children to soothe them to sleep, calm their fears, or regulate their behavior. It is those last three words that stopped me cold, 'regulate their behavior.' Add 'cultural' to the word and you have a 'song' that is imposed upon us by our culture, our tribe, our caregivers to regulate our behavior.  The author whose words I read this morning (Thank you Egle) pointed out that by our mid-thirties culture has imposed certain 'shoulds' upon us (especially women): You should have a career You should have a husband You should have children You should have a house, mortgage, car, etc.,  On and on ad nauseum ...

It seems Mr. Buffet has been around to help me navigate the waters of turning 40: "Yes I am a pirate, two hundred years too late The cannons don't thunder, there's nothing to plunder I'm an over-forty victim of fate Arriving too late, arriving too late I've done a bit of smuggling, I've run my share of grass I made enough money to buy Miami, but I pissed it away so fast Never meant to last, never meant to last." And again as I take another trip around the sun arriving at 65: "I'm just hangin' on while this old world keeps spinning And it's good to know it's out of my control If there's one thing that I've learned from all this livin' Is that it wouldn't change a thing if I let go." No matter, Jimmy and I are both still kicking, still rocking, still rolling, still writing and still enjoying life! Maybe, like me, Jimmy is just trying to make sense of where all the time goes when it passes us by. When I was 30, 65 was...