Have You Seen This Woman?

Who am I?  I have been asking myself this question a lot lately.  The answer really is I don’t fucking know.  That is the most truthful way I can answer.  I can really only answer the question in relation to who I am for someone or something else.  Yet, holding the mirror up blankly, I don’t really know who I am.

Last Winter, I was finally able to identify myself as a writer…as soon as I did that, writer’s block hit me like I was Hiroshima.   My writer’s block has been so great I have questioned if I should call myself a writer any longer.  How long do I get to go between actual writings and still get to consider myself an authentic writer?  I occasionally will whip out a bit of poetry or a mini thought…but something worth reading is coming few and far between.

I am a displaced woman.  That is what I am.  That is the only thing I truly know that I am as I sit here at my favorite Starbucks (I call it my other office.)  I watch person after person walk in…it’s literally  like watching a cookie cutter factory roll through.  Please understand, I mean a sugar cookie factory.  Here I am in the corner, earbuds in, blasting Biggie doing a hip roll.  I am not meant for small town Wisconsin.

When people talk to me about growing up I’ll say I grew up in St. Paul.  People will always ask “What part?”  I will respond with, “I’m a Frogtown girl.”  It always gets a reaction.  If anyone knows anything about the Twin Cities, they will know Frogtown was the hub of drugs, gangs and prostitution in the 80’s.  To me, it was just home.  I loved living there…so there was a drive by now and then.  My neighbor was dating a gang leader.  He was good to me.  There was always a neighborhood BBQ and I am not talking about mayo salads.  I mean REAL chicken, mac and cheese, collards…mmmm…I miss home.

My Mom moved me to the great white conservative fields when I was in high school.  I never really recovered.  I hated it.  I didn’t fit in.  I stuck out like a sore thumb.  My vernacular was different.  My music, my clothes…I didn’t like ketchup (country spice.)  When I left college, I took off to Manhattan.  I have never felt so free in my life.  I felt like I could be myself.  No judgement.  Culture.  Movement.  Diversity.  I came home for 5.5 days…all it did was remind me how much I hated small towns.  I took off to Miami.

Nevertheless, responsibility found me in the form of a little boy.  The chaos of a big city is too much for him and back to small town Wisconsin we are.  My heart longs to be in a place I feel at home.  While I am here I am constantly looking for myself.  I can not find it here.  I don’t know who I am.  I can not relate.  I can not find myself.  I am lost.

 

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