Last night I stood in the front yard as the Super Moon rose over the hills in a huge orange glow with two amazing women on either side of me. We had drinks and cameras in hand and chatted away excitedly, taking in this once-in-twenty year spectacular. After a while we headed back into the house to warm up, refill drinks and start in on more boy talk.
Men are a mystery at any age, stage or relationship level and one of our greatest joys (and biggest sorrows) is to talk about them. We talk about men, sharing the joy when we are happy, in love, infatuated or when a hot stranger takes a second glance at us in the bread isle. We talk about men and share the anxiety and angst when they are insensitive, clueless and sometimes just plain cruel.
Women share. We have other women in our lives to connect us, ground us and lift our spirits when needed most. Men, well, they don’t have that. Men float on the surface of life rather isolated and alone until they bump into the anchor that is a woman. When a man and a woman come together, the man will be able to breathe, to gain a sense of solidity – no longer a piece of flotsam on the water. A woman, however, will feel her world shake and her moorings loosen and if she isn’t careful, if her friends aren’t on hand to set her back, a woman can float away (still attached to her man) in the current.
A night like last night – the laughter, the chatter, the wine and the moon – we all need those moments to reconnect to our world and more importantly, to ourselves; and yet we take those moments for ourselves far too rarely.
The Super Moon has come and gone, not to be seen for another twenty years, but my friends, my sisters of the rising moon, will never go away.