It's almost kind of funny. I'm not an Alpha Male. I know that. Growing up, I didn't really play sports besides Johnny Tag and various incarnations of tag - including a beaning game we played between trees with a tennis ball. I was fairly athletic, though - if by athletic you mean quick and willowy and nimble at all of 80 pounds. I've always been fairly competitive, but certainly not the brutish stereotype of the man's man, six-pack and football and poker and strippers and... well, you get the picture. Obviously, I've never even been to these man's men hang-outs. In fact, I'm fairly sensitive. I used to cry all the time as a teenager. Of course, now I can't stand it when a young man gets all misty-eyed in my sight. But I couldn't stand my own hyper-sensitivity either.
It's almost kind of funny. If you look at my contacts here or the people I hang out with, they're overwhelmingly female (heck, some of the guys are underwhelmingly female!). But I don't understand how your minds work. I don't! I say mean things all the time. But I'm usually not aware that they're mean things. I come from a place where being sarcastic was a way of demonstrating affection. I won't pick up on the fact that what I said was inconsiderate until it's just about blown up in my face. Or someone (a woman, for sure) will say something to the effect of, "Well, no wonder you're not married yet."
Why am I saying this right now? Am I going through anything, particularly? No, not really.
Am I angry or frustrated at anybody? No, not unless you count myself. And even now, I'm not really angry with me.
I guess I'm just confounded by my own insensitivity to others, by the secrets, thoughts and scents of the woman.
It's just too marvelous to me. But I don't understand your thought processes. I don't understand what sets you off. I don't understand when I've done something to please or displease you. I don't understand what makes you tick.I like the cut of this man's gibberish!Or the simplest bodily functions. Or your social-bility. I don't understand your insecurities, although I'm sure we're often to blame for it. I don't understand why so many women would spend so much time trying to pick up and get the attention of men, yet loudly declare, "I don't need a man." I don't understand the need to be loved and accepted and confirmed at all times. I don't understand why or how I should pick up on mis-leading signals nor why or how I would get in trouble for my inability to read them.
These are not shortcomings, though, of women. That is a different list for a different day, I'm sure (Hopefully, I won't be the fool to write that one). These are just curiosities of mine. These are the wonders, the things too wonderful to me. Why do I find the female so utterly fascinating, yet don't know what or how to deal with her (in general)? How could love that I didn't even know existed yet flickered and once in a while smarted in the recesses of my dumb soul burn so warmly and light me up so vividly in such a short period of epiphany? And what will become of this love, these affections of mine - and hers - if it all blows up like gasoline or burns down like Shakespearean embers at our feet (something we're committed to not allowing to happen. But even still...)? For sure, God will still be at the center, holding it all together, but I can't imagine not being a good bit sadder.
He who holds the keys to lady understanding, let him open the door to illuminate us all! He who has ears to hear, let him hear. He who has mouth to speak, though, don't. I'd rather marvel at this moment. Sister Wisdom, speak your words of life.