‘Need’ is the operative word here. I’m talking about the kind of woman who makes some men very uncomfortable. The last thing you’d dare call her is the ‘little woman,’ ‘wife of’ or ‘other half.’ She is herself; totally herself without apology. Most men get it; some poor souls don’t.
As a novelist, playwright and screen writer, it’s my job to create, imagine and paint colorful picture-stories of women that readers want to read about. They should be real, provocative, mysterious, and honest to the real thing.
For example, I’ve tried to do this with my ‘Debris’ trilogy. There’s Natalie, a semi-butch lesbian, Juliet, who turns out to be bi-sexual, Millie, an aging Hollywood star, Miranda, a victim of incest and a host of other (I believe) real world women. Yet, as often as I try to paint an honest portrayal of a real woman, I find myself falling back into my most comfortable, familiar refrain.
It’s like in Greek mythology where sirens, half-bird, half-woman
creatures, lure sailors to their death with their enchanting, irresistible
songs. Their beautiful, yet deceptive, melodies play in my head as well and
cause me, along with those mariners, to lose our minds and sail the ships into
the rocky shores of the Sirens' island, causing us to drown.
Fortunately, or unfortunately, I find myself almost always gravitating toward a singular profile for my female protagonist. What can I say; I’m prejudice in the best kind of way. Through my writings, I’ve made no secret of my admiration of and attraction to independent, strong-willed women who are confident enough in themselves and their own abilities that they don’t need a man for any kind of affirmation.
I have absolutely no idea where my fascination with strong women came from? My mother was a strong-willed woman but never in a demonstrative way; German Catholics seldom are. It wasn’t the other woman in my life; aunts, nuns, female classmates, someone in the church pew ahead of me.
In my younger years, the women I’d been involved with all fit that criteria in one manner or another. Until the day, one came along who wore that crown like it was custom-tailored for her. Fifty-three years later, it still fits despite two personalities that couldn’t be more different in so many ways.
One of the Seven Wonders of the World is how an ISTJ (off the charts) married and learned to live with an ENFJ (off the charts) for fifty-three blissful years. An introvert and an Alpha Female navigating the ups and downs of communal living with all the baggage of kids, mortgages, careers, etc.
My own experience living with an Alpha Female means that most of the time she gets her way, mainly because I don’t care! So, it’s eighty percent of the time (she’d argue it should be 125%) that her way dictates our lifestyle. Surprisingly (or not), this unplanned arrangement fits our opposite personalities and causes no problem. Seriously! It’s the other twenty percent that gets interesting.
The other ten percent where we can’t agree means that nothing gets done
until some kind of compromise is reached. That stalemate can last days or months.
Some have never been resolved and we’ve managed to survive as a happy couple.
The final ten percent is the most important ingredient to our marriage success.
Without any preplanning, real discussion, or analysis before we got
married, Sharon and I have (most fortunately) found ourselves in complete
agreement on several core issues paramount to our lives. This includes little interest
in material goods, current status symbols and any other cha-chas that announce
‘we have arrived.’ Neither one of us is afraid of hard work, monetary sacrifices,
and common-sense dictates in raising our children.
Of all those things, large and small, that are important to both of us, education is at the top of that list. As mentioned in a past blog ‘Origins of Birth,’ education is the gift that keeps giving for us, our children and grandchildren. I hope it continues to be the standard of excellence of all of us long into our future.
As far a living with an alpha female goes, a lot of folks don’t
understand that someone like that has to see her partner as equal not less. So,
while she doesn’t need a man in her life, Sharon isn’t one to let a good thing
go…not after fifty-three years. Lucky me.
