Men need goddesses!
Before you run off to try on that Shiva outfit in the closet, this is going to be one of those blogs about men and the way we think. So, go ahead and get your Shiva on. Like I said, this is about the peculiar male mystique. Bet you’ve never heard those two words so close together before, but it’s true; men have a mystique to them, or us rather. I guess I qualify as a man, even though I’m about to reveal one of our most guarded secrets. We’ll see how that plays out once I’m through.
Men start cultivating goddesses early in life. It’s a no-brainer that our first goddesses are our mothers or grandmothers, as the case may be. I call this our goddess of life. Mothers are who we turn to for everything. Food, comfort, and laps to cuddle into. You know all the things we big strong menfolk need. This stage usually lasts from birth to well into adulthood. Sometimes a bit further, but I don’t want to self-analyze myself too much in a public forum.
That isn’t to say we don’t dabble with creating other goddesses. The cute little girl in kindergarten. The pigtails we pull in the second grade. Sure, it takes us awhile to work it out, but we love girls. Even back in grade school, we begin building pedestals for them. Sure, we might not be sure what we’re building them for, but we have an internal need to have them. Uh, that’s girls and pedestals. Grade schools are an iffy on the need part, though I did enjoy kickball if I remember correctly.
Then we go crazy in junior high and high school. There are goddesses everywhere! We have our bedrooms full of pedestals. Cheerleaders get them. The foreign exchange student who we can barely understand gets one, mainly because accents are insanely sexy. The cute girl we’re paired up with in chemistry gets one, mainly for the fact she gets us through the class and we wonder what she’s hiding under those glasses.
College! Don’t even get me started on college. We’re a little bit older and know a little better. Least we think we do. We’ve grown beyond the adolescent need to be stupid about it. Nope, we create a whole new way to be stupid about it. We aren’t looking for a goddess to set on a pedestal and swap out when the new model hits the showroom floor. No, we’re looking for the perfect goddess to leave there and worship until death do us part. Again, that’s a mostly thing. We might be college men, but we’re still the high school guy seeing the world of women as an endless buffet table. So, we shop through the array of goddesses for the perfect fit. Only, we have grown some. We attach an emotional factor into it we might have ignored in our younger days.
If a man is lucky, he has the chance to discover a couple goddesses that truly change our lives. The high school sweetheart is one. That special woman who begins the process of thumping through our heads the true meaning of love. The lucky ones latch onto this gem and spend the rest of their lives with the woman who sparks love everlasting. Alas, most of us aren’t bright enough to recognize her for what she is.
Then, there’s the unattainable goddess. That ethereal creature is that special woman who fires passion and imagination in most men. Unfortunately, we never act on the impulses the sight of her evokes within us. Why? Hey! Who wants to get shot down by the perfect woman? Seriously, men know who we are. We’re smelly, crude, and in most cases so set in our ways, nothing could change us. Any hope we have of capturing this goddess’ heart would mean more work than most of us are prepared to go through. Better to hold that vision of perfection in a special place within our minds to think back on later, so we can say what if to ourselves. We’re stupid that way.
Before you get the wrong idea, it’s not about sex. Okay, mostly it’s about sex, but part of it is the ideal we’ve constructed in our heads. Goddesses aren’t always created based solely on the concept of beauty the media shoves down our throats. No, it’s about finding the perfection we need to complete who we think we should be. The fortunate ones actually find this woman and through no sense whatsoever convince her to be ours. Yeah, it confuses me, too. Since I found mine, and she still agrees not to kick me out in the back yard, I’m not demanding from anyone to explain it all to me. I’m content to simply bask in her glory and do what she says.
There’s one last goddess I’ll touch on briefly. Maybe two, but I’ve never experienced this last one, so I’m not too knowledgeable on the subject. But, the last goddess to enter our lives is our daughters. From the moment they enter our lives, we’re bought and sold. It’s the one pedestal that will never be torn down and replaced. This amazing creature totally captures our heart and nothing can rip it from their firm hold there. Mine is about to be twenty-four this year and she can still twist me around her finger when she’s of a mind to. She mainly uses this nefarious power to get Popeye’s out of me when we come for a visit. I’m hoping she uses it for free babysitting, but that remains to be seen. The second of these two are granddaughters. I have a grandson, who might invoke a totally different pedestal I haven’t named yet, but I have some nieces, who have their own pedestals, so who knows how many goddesses there are out there.
You might be asking yourself what does any of this have to do with writing? Well, it’s simple. I’ve had forty-four years experience creating goddesses. It makes me somewhat of an expert on the subject. It also means I fall in love with the women dominating my imagination. After crafting over twenty heroines over the past eight years, I know without a doubt some of the goddesses who’ve passed through my life have found themselves incorporated into the strong willed women who live in the pages of my books.
My heroes? I guess they’re the men I’d always wished I’d been. Now, at forty-four, I can finally see I might not be the heroes I write, but there’s enough of me in them that I’m pretty happy about the man I’ve become. Who knows I might even be on a pedestal somewhere myself.
And, really don’t we all deserve to be somebody’s somebody special.