Confessions of a Mansplainer

And yet somehow, it’s all just a nice reflection

This is my moment. I can feel it. The moment I’ve been waiting for my entire life.

My shoulders draw back; chest puffs, hips forward. My mouth opens wide, lips curl, eyes squint, nostrils flare, fists clench.

I am ready to burst forth in my absoluteness.

I am aiming for brilliance.

I set myself for world domination.

I am ready to let my soul erupt from the depths of all that is, and will be, artistic creation.

I steady myself; breathe in.

Again. I breathe in.

Yet, nothing comes out…

I try again.

My grip tightens harder around my own hand until my knuckles whiten.

I breathe in again, readying myself for the explosion of awesomeness that will gush from my soul and fill the world with the immense power that is in my voice.

Yet, what come instead are…thoughts. Overly effusive thoughts interrupt the blast with a terse, yet stern over-explanation of what’s happening.

“Meagan, let me explain something to you,” my thoughts begin. My soul smiles. It wants to understand. The thoughts continue without noticing my soul’s earnestness. “Have you ever heard of the word ‘potential’? The Merriam Webster definition of “potential” says that it is something existing in possibility, or capable of development into actuality. One day perhaps this will be you. But today is not your day.”

They drone on for an inconceivable amount of time.

The siren of thoughts cascade through my head and into my body and my power pose collapses into a frozen, breathless skeleton. The soul is pushed ever further down.

My soul has made things difficult for me before in their pursuits. My thoughts, on the other hand, can always rationalize away my fears. Perhaps they are smarter, I think.

My soul sits behind in the quiet, and my siren thoughts bubble up like Perrier bubbles in a goblet on a sidewalk Parisian café. The soul hasn’t been fed in some time, and is weak to speak up.

The thoughts sees the soul’s mission as worthless beyond useless frivolities.

I stare out into the world like the black cat on the sidewalk expecting each passerby to be scared by my very appearance, and listen too intently to the mansplainer of thoughts.

Suddenly, a small purple butterfly lands on my nose. My nose! My thoughts can’t comprehend the silliness and beauty of a small purple butterfly sitting on one’s nose.

Something happens — a fleck of self-awareness. I feel my feet on the ground again.

The thoughts settle.

The soul has a moment to rise.

It takes its chance.

The thoughts forget to think as the soul immerses itself in what is right here. History, rationales, and futures don’t matter here and now.

The butterfly doesn’t understand “potential”.

What aggravates us the most is what will set us free. We are all a reflection of the world, and it of us.

With assertive gentleness, I let my thoughts know that my soul will listen to them as long as they pause for the soul.

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