The tender sex

Perhaps it's time to walk away from this pain.

In this place, among those who know me,  I'll always be on the outside looking in. There's a history, a subtext, words that echo in the corridors and around corners.

These networks of social relationships that flourish  in the family network we call a congregation depend on being chosen - by someone.  And for whatever reasons, and the reasons are complicated, I haven't found my place.

Crying in the women's room - that's so high school, isn't it?

Actually, I don't think I did much crying in or outside the bathroom in my high school career.

I enjoyed the small independent school my sister and I attended. Besides, with a graduating class of only 21, give or take, it's hard to be too alienated from your classmates - you really can't afford not to get along.

A convert, a rebel, a questioner, I often find myself on the outskirts, observing - but I also treasure the authenticity of meaningful relationships. .

I enjoy the company of men, and their sometimes heady conversations - and appreciate  the company of some active, practical, grounded female friends.

I have a few - but not a posse.

It's too easy to stereotype women as indirect, cruel, mean girls stalking their kill, leaving the scene of the crime hand in hand with their pals...les femmes fatales.

No. These are well-meaning, faithful women striving to channel the best that is in them, bearers of grace for themselves and their families.

It isn't their fault that I am not of their tribe - and that when the time comes for them to celebrate, play, rent a beach house or plan a vacation, they look to one another - not seeing, perhaps, the woman sitting in the corner, who longs, for once, to be desired enough to be among the popular girls.