Just give me one thing that I can hold on to

Suddenly it hits me: in this moment, this place, this pinprick in the human timeline, it is fucking fantastic to be a woman. The three of us discuss switching careers, moving to new continents and constructing our lives in concrete terms, never considering that we might not have the freedom or abilities to consummate our plans. The notion of being excluded from schools, organizations or companies because we’re female doesn’t enter our consciousness. Our choices for an autonomous future are just that: our choices. We romped freely through adolescence and our early twenties, and now sit back and laugh at past pitfalls and mistakes with no fear of scarring reputations or curbing options. We harbor aspirations and goals with no concept of limits or walls, carving out identities without heed to convention or social mores. Our personalities run rampant, never crammed into boxes or forced to embody male fantasies or antiquated visions of “femininity.” Without trying, we convey the poise that accompanies self-assurance gained from life experience. We can laugh at the world’s puerile assholes knowing they’ll squirm through life as barely a blip on the cosmic radar. We love men as companions and equals, not saviors, tormentors or patriarchal substitutes. We sob, scream, cackle, grin and giggle on the street with abandon, achieving full self-expression whenever and however we choose.

Sipping my margarita, I realize that here, now, we have everything we need to create extraordinary lives brimming with possibility, all handed to us wrapped in silver ribbon. To the women who endured the past and fought limitless inequity, dedicating entire generations to social transformation so that women my age could step into a world of immeasurable opportunities: Thank you.

Thank you, Opinionista.

Angel from Montgomery