The good folks at the University of Missouri Feminist
Student Union invited me to talk about my experience as a nudie dancer,
academic, and mother last night. The talk was great, though I always vacillate
between wanting to maintain a sense of formality so people will take me
seriously and embracing my natural inclination to just wing it. The evening
before the talk, I checked the event announcement on Facebook to see what exactly
the crowd would be expecting of me and the description read as follows:
‘Join FSU next Tuesday as we talk to a local woman about how
she balances exotic dancing, motherhood, and academia. We will also be
discussing how, as feminists, we can combat slut-shaming and promote positive
body image. We hope to see you there!’
And while the talk I gave certainly addressed my life or the
combination of lives that I lead, attendees may note that I didn't exactly
address specifically how I balance two very different jobs, kids, husband, a
writing life, friends, and the like. People often ask me how I do it all and
here’s the honest answer: I DON’T! I do not balance these aspects of my life,
by any stretch of the imagination. If I knew how to do that, I’d be a saint. Or
a millionaire.
I don’t balance every aspect of my life because it’s
impossible. My question for the wider world is this—why is that so bad?
Unrealistic expectations that we place on ourselves as women [and men, too, I
suppose] make us crazy. If I actually finished everything that I wanted to do
in a single day, the number of hours in a single day would have to double. As
long as I have to abide by the rules of a three-dimensional reality, something is
going to get sacrificed. And that’s the scary word, isn't it? A whole faction
of feminism is based on the notion that women shouldn't have to sacrifice
things that they want in order to become the person they want to be.
But what I’m really petitioning is a redefinition of the
word ‘sacrifice’. I move that we embrace the word sacrifice in reference to all
those things on our daily to-do lists. We should be able to give up things of a
lower vibration in order to gain things of a higher vibration. Or, in less ‘woo-woo’
terms: I henceforth refuse to feel guilty that my kitchen floor is disgusting
because I spent all morning writing this blog. I really didn't want to mop
anyway. No one is going to come over and fawn over the cleanliness of my cold,
hard, ceramic tile. But someone might read this, and feel less guilty that they
fed their kids cereal and toast for dinner because they worked all day and just
need to sit down. Someone might read this and feel better about taking a ‘mental
health’ day from work because they really wanted to spend time with their
husband, or kids, or friends.
I could have that tile squeaky clean and gleaming right now,
but what does it get me other than a clean floor? Chances are no one,
particularly not the children who live here, will notice I mopped. Moreover,
there’s an even greater likelihood that the floor will need to be mopped again
come three o’clock when the offspring storm the castle and pillage the fridge
and pantry. There will be spilled dark chocolate almond milk. There will be
crumbs. Better I wait until four, sacrificing the fleeting and nominal
satisfaction of the clean floor now for time spent in my writing head, where I’m
much happier anyway, crafting these words that someone will read. There is no
glory in perfection. There is no perfect. Do the things that are best for your
soul first. Mop the fucking floor later.
