A big chunk of me has slipped back into place unexpectedly. I call it my nature girl. Suddenly I’m appalled by fracking---especially in Pennsylvania. And by the continents of discarded plastic, ghost ships cruising ominously across the ocean. By the pellets of plastic lodged in the throats of seabirds and whales. I don’t want to shout slogans or disrupt traffic or get arrested. But I do want to write letters, post in my blog, watch what plastics I consume.
This part of me went underground for the past 20 years. It was the “biological imperative” that hijacked me, the compulsion to have a child. The cultural imperative for women. But I wanted it, wanted to nurture another person into his or her genuine self: whole, authentic, happy.
Last night, Max’s face was bright with excitement over a new girl. “She’s already beautiful,” he said. “If she puts on a little makeup, I won’t be able to look at anything else.”
Yet just the day before, he’d alarmed me and my husband and his teachers with a declaration of unhappiness and depression, completely uncharacteristic of him.