Incepto ne desistam- "May I not shrink from my purpose"
I am often told of my fragility and volatility. I consider myself to be Pallas Athena, virgin goddess of war, strength, art and all around gracious intelligence. However, the world tends to view me more as her pretty, but temperamental priestess- still unripened fruit obeying the laws of the divine and liable to being plucked by Heracles, Zeus or some vagrant atmospheric element that sweeps through the temple.
In a way, this image was superimposed on my fate as a sort of stencil by my doting and well intentioned family, along with almost everyone I came across. I was the delicate, pink-cheeked child who cried at a moment's notice and hid her toys from inexorable damage at the hands of visiting peers. Throughout my life, though, I have allowed the markings of my being to follow this hovering stencil out of respect, obedience and the understanding that I was to be a proper, well-mannered child and grow into a proper, well-mannered woman.
I questioned very few turns of this guide when I was young and I like to think I have become something of a lady. However, every now and then I climb a hill, play with a reptile or sit on the floor and I can hear the aghast gasps of everyone who groomed me. A series of realities becomes apparent to me as if strung together by the hooked paper clips of every "yes ma'am" or "yes sir" I have ever muttered. In my mind, I am berated by my high school Headmistress for daring to munch on that oatmeal and raisin cookie while walking in public. In another scene, I am scolded by my father for being clumsy and falling on the rocks in Hellshire...again. In yet another, I am consoled by my grandmother for being pricked by thorns while attempting to pick fruits from a tree. Maybe if I weren't so delicate, I would know how to cut that can open without slicing my finger in the process.
When these thoughts come up, I am tempted to imagine some sort of wretched constraint placed on me by the society in which I was raised. It is a society which, after all, often places frailty on a pedestal- or, in my case, a low stool from which I am in no danger of falling. When I think things through, I am grateful that those who love me have sheltered me from experiences that may very well have scarred me for the rest of my days. I remember telling one of the researchers in Hellshire when I first went there that I wanted a scar, because I had never had one and I had always wanted that discoloured trophy that I could flaunt as a symbol of having done something significant, daring or even just fun. He warned me that I may not like the event that led to that scar or the scar itself once it was permanently stitched into my skin. Nevertheless, I wanted it and I got it. Well, I got many.
My point is this. I cherish each scar and memory of pain as an effigy of the person I was in that moment. I may not have had the most exciting life, but I am content with the wonders I have seen and the love with which I have been showered. I am thankful for the experiences that were snuck into my tapestry of time by my family and friends, and for those that are still to come. I still chuckle when I touch my ear, because I remember when my aunt (my 'Big Mommy') defiantly took me to get my ears pierced without my mother's consent because she just thought I was ready. I have kept every ticket stub for every movie I have laughed at, scoffed at or just seen nonchalantly with my friends. I have had a life, and I look forward to filling it with even more moments of awe, basic contentment and every emotion between and beyond.
I will close with these messages. To those who see me from a distance, I am stronger and even more temperamental than I look. If at first you do not believe this, I will show you, possibly forcefully. To my protectors, I am the lady you have built, with a few kinks indented by many falls from that stool on which you placed me. I am okay with a scar or two and a few patches of dirt on my skin. It is okay to let go, because if I fall again I know how to pick my pieces off the rocks that constitute this world and glue them back together.
I am a haphazard mess inside a well defined exterior. I am proud of that. If I am not yet Athena, all I need is time.
Pallas Athena, Rembrandt, ~1665
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