I’m terrified of flying. Very likely, this is the reason I haven’t stepped foot on a plane in the last decade. I used to be pretty good at flying, on planes or otherwise. I’d close my eyes and dive forward, into open air. Those were the days when I was pretty good at swimming, too. I never cared about freefalling back then. Or maybe I cared so much I couldn’t contemplate the fall.
I’m about to step into open air. The cliff I’ve been standing on is starting to give way, and anyway, my feet are itching for a change. They’ve been cooped up, stranded, left-behind for some time now. And I have this little boy constantly dancing around me, daring me to join the hurricane swell that is his life. What can I do? What choice do I have but to leap?
Of course, I have many choices. I don’t have to leap. I could stand still. I could fall. I could fly. Perhaps it’s not so much a matter of choice as it is a matter of faith. Neo doesn’t become the chosen one until he believes he’s worthy of being chosen. Am I worthy? Like Mulder, I Want to Believe. Oh, but what tricky, fragile feathers faith and belief can be! I can’t just “buy some” as Jack would have me think. I can’t order them up at a diner counter or glue them to my arms like a child’s art project. Faith comes in steps, not in leaps…and then, suddenly, you’re leaping. You’re flying without even realizing that you’ve left the ground. This is what’s so amazing about faith: it’s only a burden to carry when you’re not actually carrying it.
Last week, while Jack and I stared up at yet another plane that had captured his fancy, I found myself saying, “Isn’t it amazing that they don’t fall down?” Jack ignored me, and I’m glad he did. I hope his faith is so much stronger than mine that he can ignore my moment of faltering. I’d feel terrible if he tucked that nugget away and pulled it out later as full-blown doubt. After all, he is worthy. I suppose if he does remember my doubt, I’ll have the advantage of life on my side. By then, I’ll have taken a few more steps and seen a few more planes. By then, I hope to have learned that planes don’t fly by magic but by a series of physical laws. We fly in stages, I’ll tell him, not just by sheer will. I know these truths as fact. One day, I hope to believe.
I’m one of those psychoanalysis junkies who never really believed in penis envy—until now. In college, my feminism professors made gender politics seem so clear-cut, as if there existed a definable, external war and I merely needed to choose a side. And if I chose the right side—the side protecting women’s rights—I’d never have to choose again. I could have it all: a fast-track career, motherhood, myself. Really, there was no need for a penis, because the vagina was much more comprehensive. I was still a girl then—a million years away from becoming a mother—and the world seemed my (vaginal) oyster. Remember that song, “What It Feels Like for a Girl?” In it, Madonna never mentions what it’s like to be a woman.
When Jack was four months old, I developed a very intense and frightening fantasy. I imagined myself in the middle of the ocean, swallowed by endless fathoms of water. My feet firmly rooted on land, I longed to drown.
My recent fascination with Adam Lambert has made me think a lot about what it means to come out. While there remains a lot of debate about his sexual orientation, I’m not sure there’s much ambiguity. Adam has stated publicly that kissing girls is not his thing, has referred to past relationships with boyfriends, and when asked about photographs that show him making out with men said that he’s “an honest guy” and “has nothing to hide.” While he certainly hasn’t held a press conference declaring his sexual orientation (and to my understanding, none of the other contestants have either), he declares Harvey Milk—a huge proponent of the power of coming out—as his personal idol, and when a TMZ reporter recently made a most humiliating attempt to stammer through the topic of Adam’s sexual orientation, Adam practically dared him to ask the question. If Adam is at all reluctant to discuss the subject, I am confident that it is not out of insecurity or shame—quite the opposite. I think he is so confident in his identity that he doesn’t feel the urgency to indulge a question that shouldn’t have been asked in the first place.
I’m a huge fan of The Matrix, especially when it comes to its take on choice. Early in the movie, Morpheus presents Neo with an irreversible decision: take the red pill and learn the truth about the Matrix, or take the blue pill and remain blissfully ignorant. For Neo, who has been searching for the truth about the Matrix his whole life, it’s an easy decision, and he makes it quickly—perhaps a little too quickly. Morpheus warns him, “Remember, all I’m offering is the truth. Nothing more.” As soon as Neo chooses the red pill, his body begins a dangerous and painful transition out of the Matrix. The world he knows dissolves, and an entirely new (and bleak) one emerges.