As the daughter and grand-daughter of feminists (yes, my grand-parents were feminists, even though they would never have used the term themselves), I have always thought that it was my right and my duty to Have a Career. However, I discovered in high school that I really had very little interest in any such thing. I’d been told for years that I had “such potential,” and that I could do and be whatever I wanted, that when it came time to have the discussions with my guidance counselor about what I wanted to be when I grew up, I simply could not make a decision. Faced with a vast array of ill-defined options, my mind shut down and I refused to deal. Hence, I went to college at age 18 because that is what one was supposed to do, and I didn’t have any alternative plans in mind.
Hampered by such a complete lack of motivation and direction, I naturally put the bare minimum of effort into my courses…and then I stopped putting any effort into them. I dropped out before they could kick me out (which turned out to be a really good thing later on), and I joined the work force. I still had no interest in any kind of Career, because what that meant to me was having to wear suits and pantyhose, and dealing with Corporate Ladders and office politics and backstabbing co-workers. What I wanted was just a low-stress kind of job that would engage my mind and abilities while allowing me to contribute something useful to the world.
What I ended up with was a string of frustrating, unsatisfying, dead-end jobs that I gritted my teeth and coped with until I was able to move on to the next job, which I always hoped would be better. There were a few bright spots (Thank you, Bonnie! Thank you, College of Ed!) and I was always able to learn a few new skills from each painful experience, so it sort of felt like I was making progress toward something that would finally fulfill my needs. I had been operating with the philosophy that the tasks I completed were less important than the fact that I was doing necessary work for a good cause. However, I finally realized that simply contributing to a worthy endeavor is not really enough for me any more; I need to be doing work that stretches and engages me, in addition to being worthwhile in a larger sense.
I still believe that it is possible to have such a fulfilling and meaningful job, but my search for one has been, so far, unsuccessful. I suppose I must be looking in the wrong places or taking the wrong approach, but it’s terribly hard to figure out any other ways to go about it, especially since I can’t settle on one specific goal and spend all my energy on moving in that direction. This is the danger of being a generalist as well as harboring a severe commitment phobia. I could be doing so many things that I feel unable to choose just one, for fear that it will turn out to the wrong choice.
But back to Donna Reed and my ingrained feminism. These past months (almost 23 of them, now) have been terribly difficult in terms of my feelings of self-worth and self-confidence, but they have also been a lot of fun, with plenty of time to play with my family and friends. And I find that the cooking I’ve been doing is more satisfying than almost anything I’ve done professionally. Not quite everything, but close. Which causes me to wonder if I would actually be happy being a housewife.
But wondering that makes me question everything I was raised to believe, so then I need to take some time and work it all out. I’ve been doing just that for a while now, and have come to some conclusions. First, the point of the Women’s Movements was to ensure that women had the opportunities to contribute fully to society in the ways that suited them best as individuals, recognizing that no group of people will all have the same strengths and needs, just because they all share one characteristic. Second, this does not mean that women who find themselves happiest when running a household are somehow un-feminist, it just means that those skills required for such a job are their strengths.
I took some Cultural Anthropology courses when I was taking my second stab at college, and I learned something really interesting about the historical (and, indeed, Pre-Historical) division of labor. The men mostly went out hunting, and also pursued the sort of warfare that involved ranging far afield to loot their neighbors and expand the clan’s territory. The women mostly did the gathering, which could be done nearer to the homes and could also include hauling the children around with them, since the women were the ones who could breast-feed the babies. What we tend to forget is that the women were also in charge of defending the homes and driving off the wild animals and somewhat wilder men who might come around while the local menfolk were off hunting the wild whatsits to feed everyone through the winter. So it’s not like women’s work was less valuable/valued than men’s work way back in the day – in fact, the main tasks of passing on the heritage and protecting the next generation were handled largely by the women. And any doofus can see the value of that.
Somewhere along the line, the thinking about division of labor along gender lines became imbued with value judgments, and for some reason the work done largely by women was judged to be less important, which carried with it the additional baggage of labeling the women themselves as less valuable to society than men. Except in their ability to bear children, on which women have always had a pretty secure monopoly. Therefore, it gradually became socially acceptable for women to stay at home and bear children, and that was all. If a woman was unfortunate enough to be unable to conceive for whatever reason, she was expected to turn her energy toward helping the other (more worthy) women to raise/educate/nurse their offspring.
I do wonder exactly how and when that transition from valued contributor to brood mare happened, but I don’t think there’s any way to pinpoint the moment, more’s the pity. My point here is that women finally got organized enough to point out the stupidity of dismissing half the adult population’s ideas, skills, potential and contributions, simply because they could (theoretically) give birth, too. Sheer waste of resources, if you ask me; I mean, maybe some woman discovered the uses of Penicillin three hundred years ago, but was never able to bring the discovery to light because no-one would listen to her.
I seem to have wandered off again. It’s so much easier to have a polemic rant than an introspective revelation. My point was that I think I might be completely happy running a household – cooking, scrubbing, tidying, painting, grubbing in the garden, making grocery lists, running errands, tending to the pets, planning meals, etc., etc., etc. Actually, this stuff requires a lot of the same skills I’ve been using as a secretary/office manager/executive wrangler for years. Plus, there’s a complete absence of anyone acting like I’m invisible or blaming me for his fuck-ups. The main problem with my current situation (and it’s a biggie) is that this house where I live isn’t mine in any sense at all. I’m also not getting quite a number of my other needs met, but I’m used to that, so it’s easier to ignore for the time being. This issue of non-ownership seems to be the main stumbling-block right now, which makes me think that if I’d made different choices about a job path, not to mention my decision to run screaming from anything even smelling like a committed relationship in my 20s and 30s, I might be able to afford my own house by now. I might even have a man to share it with.
Of course, I have always done everything later than everyone else, from walking to riding a bike to wild partying and the consequent soul-searching. So it’s not really surprising that, at age 41, I’m finally feeling ready to be domestic and permanent with someone, which most people seem to do somewhere around age 30. Sadly, I’ve spent so much time and energy dealing with the fallout of my inability (unwillingness?) to commit to a career, and so much of my emotional mojo figuring out my thoughts about the large existential questions of life, the universe and everything, that now I have no real resources or skills needed to find a mate.
I’m thinking that some nice guy in Alaska might need a mail-order bride; maybe he’ll overlook the double chin, since I can cook up a storm.
