Fierce, kind, awake women. You are everywhere.
I tip my days up, shake them by the ankles, and masses of you – legions of you – fall out in a beautiful heap.
There. There is the one that txts me odes to avocados. And innuendo that makes me laughcry in public.
And her? She parents with astonishing patience. Humour. And only a little wine.
I am in awe of her.
Those two? Well. Those two rewrote, through sheer force of love, the narrative arc for one small human.
His memoir will be an entirely different book, now.
She has the most extraordinary soul.
She climbs down and meets me in the dark places.
She does things – terrible wonderful things – with sugar. Things that will yank you, with closed eyes, right into the moment.
Those four? They trust me with their failures. They have made me well in a way I didn’t know I could be.
That one trails pixie dust in her wake. She has a divining rod for determining I need to laugh.
She knows that climbing hills is a prayer of thanks. And comes with me – reverently, ritualistically – to offer a Life 2.0 tithe at the tills of Lululemon.
Those three. God. Those three. They offer nourishment. They fatten me up on dorky dancing, 80’s movies, beach walks, stick-on moustaches, and cheese – then gently turn me around, send me back out into the world. Full.
Oh, you know. They’re just changing the world. Using their voices. Standing their ground. Showing up and refusing to move.
That lot cheer shaky steps forward – wheeling out the brass band, the pom-poms, the banners. All of it. Every single time.
They are ferociously inclusive. This one knows that vulnerability is power. And she is afraid but is doing it anyway.
The soft ones. The strong and stroppy ones.
All of you.
Remarkable women, you are everywhere.