Although I despise many messages in the modern Cinderella story, I occasionally fantasize that I am she. Not that I want Prince Charming. No, I want a Fairy Godmother.
I used to daydream that a wise, strong woman would come and take me under her wing. She would start from the top, work to the bottom, and go from the outside to the inside. I would be transformed under her wise winkling ways.
My hair would turn from a frizzy halo to sleek perfect ringlets- under control. I would learn how to dress to send the message that I was strong, beautiful and confident. I would have the perfect pair of shoes. A pair that I could dance all night in, run home in, and still feel sexy in. (Still looking for those shoes)
And in the end, Fairy Godmother would let me see my own dreams, desires, strengths and abilities. I would magically have purpose and direction and be unstoppable by any jealous person or rigid law.
And so I wait for outside approval and permission to transform myself. That is one part of Cinderella that I find infuriating the passive hoping that someone else will come and save the girl from her self-induced spell.
Since I’m not in a fairy tale, and since my favourite heroines are not the ones who wait to be rescued, I must find my own magic wand. I’m naming it Provecho. I must try things, taste things, and not be afraid to fail. The myth of the fairy godmother is that it just takes a few minutes under the right person’s authority to gain perfection.
I have had many wise people, older and younger, who have helped me. Mentors come in many forms, but in the end, I must quest for life on my own. Others may and do stand beside me, but no one is carrying me.