I saw her this morning as I drove through my neighborhood--a woman, perhaps a little older than me, with very kind eyes, walking down the street. I've noticed her many times before, but today I was conscious of a particular way she hugged the edge of the road.
Actually, that's not quite it. It wasn't that she was just to one side, trying to avoid cars. It's more like there were guard rails on both sides of her, invisible lines she was trying to stay between. Her body movement seemed deliberately held in check, like it would be wrong or unseemly to be more open and expansive in her gait. Like it wouldn't feel "right" or "normal" to take up more space.
When did it start? Is it just a more recent physical tic? Or is it in response to a disapproving voice (or worse, a disapproving hand) from waaaaay back? Is this part of her conditioning, growing up as a certain kind of female-bodied person in the South? Is it the result of early reflexes and patterns that have been armored over and muscle-memoried to the point that it truly would feel weird to walk any other way?
I thought of other friends of mine who fully own the space they're in, who swagger down the road like they're leading a whole entourage of embodied, confident selves. Where did they start? Was it a fortuitous combination of nature/nurture? Was it the victory of an intentional and hard-fought battle? How did this become their normal?
And how do I--and you--move through the world? When and where did that start? What lines are we trying to stay inside of? Who drew them? And, perhaps most importantly, do they still serve us?
