Wanted: A sense of entitlement (or actually a penis might suffice)

Beware: This post is filled with gross generalisations and stereotypes and may offend some people.

There are many times during the day, week, month, year, that I wish I was male. I have sons too and I see how much they love their dad, the wrestling, ball kicking, barbequing, and the latest male pursuit in my house – fishing. Dad home means outside jobs get done, sport is on the telly and if the surf is on, he’s outta here catching waves. The boys both cry and I am left talking them into whatever the ‘distraction’ might be.

Now don’t get me wrong, I love surfing, even though I am absolutely useless at it, and I admire and envy the passion the men in my town have for it. My husband works really hard and is absolutely entitled to some time to himself on the weekend. I totally respect that and I encourage it. He’s much happier when there’s surf, and happier if he is out amongst it. What I struggle with is that I don’t have the same sense of entitlement that he, and most of the blokes around here have. If there is surf, they are out there, for as long and as often as they can be. On some Saturdays that might mean three surfs. It is the first time for the week they leap out of bed. They love it. The talk, the plan, the search, the swell. It is soul food. It is nourishing and essential.

So here is the problem. I need some soul food that also follows the call of nature, that relies on the wind and the tide and the swell. I need the passion to make my world stop when the surf is calling, at that moment, that beach, that two hour drive on that sunrise. Because I accept it, we all do. It’s not golf that takes all Saturday morning, or many weekends away. It’s not footy that takes all Saturday afternoon, and night, and a big recovery on the Sunday. (Although before kids it was, and I loved it!) It has more urgency and less predictability than that.

I have lots of things I adore and would stop everything to be part of. Most of them have to do with my friends, they are the best soul food there is. But I don’t run, or have a sporting commitment anymore, I don’t meet at a class or a group of a night. Instead I tutor students and attend committee meetings every few months. (Oh my god did I actually just write that sentence, when did I turn 50!) I love the beach, I love markets, I love hanging out in the city, I love live music. But none of these start building with the new swell from the west, and form the basis of all of my internet searching and text messages with mates. The don’t have the same urgency, but maybe they could. So I’m on the lookout for a sense of entitlement, a determination to get some more soul food in. My family would be fine with it, hell they would actually love it if I spent an hour or two every weekend to nourish and revive and refresh. But I need to be fine with it. I need to find the desire and the thirst and the enjoyment of knowing that I am entitled to do something else that I love, more often than every now and then.

Lucky for me, this weekend my kind of swell hits town.  A night in the city, the most gorgeous girls and lots of laughs with some drinks thrown in. The best kind of soul food a girl could ask for. Entitled – hell yeah, Nourished – absolutely.

 

 

 

 

 



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