“But it’s just an imperative on your soul. Maybe that’s too dramatic for some people, but it makes perfect since to me and my kind. Us wanderers. Us wind-bearers. All my life I have had people insisting I sit still for one reason or another. But for what? When they get down to it, no one has a good answer for me. Even when I started to explore the possibility of motherhood, the conversation would choke on people’s disbelief that someone like me could sustain another life. All you’d hear is the ice cubes clinking in the glass. All of the sudden, the chorus of the song could finally be heard because the chatter had ceased. For the severity of wonder. For the pondering of a mountain: ‘Can our Delilah really be a mother? A good mother?’
No one ever says it out loud, but I know. Their eyes are so bright with skepticism. It would be laughable if deep down inside it didn’t also hurt. People. People dear to me. People I call friend or lover or family. To know in their minds they look at me as less than capable, because my legs have told too many stories. Gotten too accustomed to moving on from responsibility. But how can honoring my spirit every moment of my life be interpreted as careless, as unfitting for a mother?
I mean, this is somewhat embarrassing. I don’t usually take so much time to examine what the world makes of me. But I can’t shake it. As I walk this road alone, thoughts like these flood me and keep me company. It is good to have something to warm you on a morning like this. The morning after another delicious night that comes undone too soon, even if that warmth is plagued with doubts of my worthiness to bring life into the world. All the voices of the people who don’t think I’d make a good mother. I don’t know yet what to do with that. But to just admit it. Say it out loud to this wind. A breeze can be good for carrying bullshit away.
But what’s the uproar about, people! I just thought it’d be holy to have a child one day. To love someone so much that we created more love into a whole other person. It never occurred to me that I wasn’t good enough to make such a choice. I don’t really believe what they say. But to know so many think I’m more ‘suited’ to just meander through life, having wild adventures that make great stories at their cocktail parties and give them permission to imagine, if only for a few minutes, a space other than the banal cushions they call home–well that’s just disappointing. And so very, very heavy. Even for a wind song like me.” ~~ Delilah, daughter of Cora Mae, consummate wanderer, dreamer, lover of butterflies and sunrises in new places