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Bolshie Bitch

tip of the Bruce Peninsula, Dec 26, 2010, Great Lakes, Canada

Someone who’d known me since birth called me ‘bolshie’ once.  I was surprised – at that point in my life (30s, I think)- I’d spent a great deal of energy schooling myself to be nice, make nice, be supportive and encouraging, do not threaten, always listen never challenge (I spend less energy on these things now, though occasionally they still come in handy).

Now I’m more apt to see the usefulness of a good, hearty bitch-session (as a way to ‘off-gas’ and continue on with the rage-fuelled task list, I’m telling you – it works), a balls-ey choice to deliberately INTERFERE in someone else’s process (sure inspires clarity of purpose, either way), and the well-chosen moment when a well-oiled revolutionary concept can be properly inserted into a starched-shirt-session (if you do it well, you should feel the urge to duck immediately afterwards)

Someone had a good thing to say about one’s shadow as the best path to wisdom.  i.e., if you can’t acknowledge the unpretty parts of yourself, you can’t evolve.

If one of my oldest yearnings is to be sitting at age 85 in a rocking chair on my front porch, with a loaded 22 resting (lite as a feather) across my knees and full intent to use it, however subtly provoked …

… what does that say about this lifetime’s pregnant public moments in which I have NOT leaped in with a ‘shot from the hip’;  a verbal trident into the core of whatever requires a good shake-up; a simple, lightly lobbed grenade-comment that disintegrates any conscious or unconscious denial in the vicinity…

After the dust settles, you’ve learned something.  Maybe about gentleness, maybe about compassion, maybe that you totally screwed up and must now launch into damage control, or perhaps – that you read things correctly and did what was required.  I believe that the Nervy Bolshie Bitch in all of us teaches humility. Without humility we can’t be overcome by wonder.

Sometimes she’s just plain self-indulgent – but nevertheless, overweening rage, if converted into fuel, will consistently drive us beyond our known horizons.  And that’s never bad.

Enjoy the ice-monster attached, and be well.


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