Forever in Blue Jeans

Finding freedom from a life of envy

It’s 1960. I’m a six-year-old begging my mom to cut off my hair and buy me boy clothes exactly as my older brother wears. I adamantly assert, “I want to be a boy!”

Although a bit perplexed at the request, Mom agrees, probably because she is a liberal, forward-thinking type and wants my relentless pleading to stop.

I remember the day with clarity. Mom had trimmed my hair to my liking and bought me a pair of blue jeans and a yellow sweatshirt. After I had donned my new identity, I headed for the neighborhood park where I met a little boy on the swing set, and he asked me, “Are you a boy or a girl?”

I was elated! And happily responded, “I’m a girl, but I want to be a boy!” And he said, “I thought so — because you don’t have a zipper in your jeans.”

I was deflated and devastated.

That is my first memory of life slapping me in the face with the hard hand of reality. I still haven’t fully recovered from my introduction to the world of gender roles accompanied by my first taste of envy.

At first glance, my story might appear to be about sexual identity, a political statement, or a protest of inequality. Trust me; it’s not. It was the ’60s, and unisex clothing wasn’t invented yet, and girls had to wear dresses in my public school. At a young age, I was so envious. Boys could wear jeans in school AND pee standing up. I wanted their comfortable wardrobe and efficient plumbing!

I had other experiences that reinforced my longings to live in a boy’s world. My brother and his friends were goofy and hilarious. They tickled, teased, and had me chase after overthrown basketballs and baseballs. I was proud to be their little mascot. I felt included. (except for the undeniable fact I was a girl wearing girl clothes.)

As a child, I was too timid to be a tom-boy and not girlie-girl enough to be enthralled with dolls. I would put my babydolls down for a permanent nap in my pretend world as I organized my pink cardboard cupboard and refrigerator or make-believed I was an artist or astronaut.

As a teen, I wanted to make money by mowing lawns and detested babysitting. (Remember, these were the ’60s when we had paperboys to deliver the newspapers, while papergirls were unheard of.)

I preferred math and science over frills and makeup, feeling like a misfit in my culture. I wanted a boyfriend, and many gave me the advice: make yourself attractive and let the boys win at all the competitions.

I could get “A’s” in school, but I didn’t do my homework when it came to “achieving” a boyfriend. And I envied the girls who could pull this off as effortlessly as I could get good grades.

Fast forward 60 years —

I have always known that I don’t fit the stereotypical male or female role. And that made it challenging to be a content wife, mother, and now grandmother. Times have changed, but comparing myself to the cultural norms of the 1960s is a difficult mindset to break. I have envied women who enjoy their societal roles with no apparent inner conflict for most of my life.

And I envied all the others who were courageous enough to live authentic lives, never mind the consequences.

My well-established sense of envy stills shows up in my arena of couples and single friends who thrive in their cultural roles.

My conundrum: Should I honor my honest and authentic self or keep in step with the accepted and expected gender roles in my world? In other words, should I go along to belong, or live my own truth at the risk of rejection?

Maybe there is no correct answer because I am asking the wrong question. Perhaps the problem isn’t “Which path shall I take?” but rather — ” “How can I learn to embrace whatever path I find myself on?”

We are all victims of the culture and the era we are born into. Everyone will have a different response according to multiple factors, many of which are beyond our control.

The most challenging task of navigating my life path is to have the courage to be brutally honest with myself. There are lies that I have been unknowingly telling myself for decades. One of the most toxic ones is envy. It has worked gradually to harden my heart. This creeping ivy of envy has held my joy captive and, over time, has produced weeds of unnecessary heartache, resentment, loneliness, and anger.

I know firsthand that the sin of envy is no joke. And it might be one of the deadliest of the seven.

There is a multitude of wisdom proverbs written over the ages with dire warnings. Here is an old German saying:

Envy eats nothing but its own heart.

Conclusion:

I started this story with a fun memory to see where it would take me. I thought it might turn into an account of the male privilege existing in our society. (Which I do have powerful feelings about, not based on envy.)

But one of the promises I have made to myself is to examine my own heart before playing any victim or blame games. And to my surprise, I was gifted with some not-so-pleasant but welcomed insight.

This reminds me of another piece of timeless wisdom Cicero wrote:

Gratitude is not only the greatest of virtues but the parent of all the others.

So, thank you so much for your time and for reading my story. And just to let you know, I am wearing my blue jeans and a smile.