Men often complain that there are no real women left these days.
Women, in turn, complain that there are no real men anymore.
And yet both men and women might very well be “real” within the framework of their own gender (awkward wording, perhaps, but at least the meaning is clear).
Even if we set aside those who lean toward expressing traits of the opposite gender, there remains a great number of men and women waiting for signs of “realness” in each other — waiting, growing bitter, and ultimately becoming disillusioned with life.
I do not agree with the idea that it is men who must first start being real, after which women, feeling the presence of real men, will be inspired to become real women.
Nor do I believe the opposite.
It is easy to be a real man in the presence of a real woman.
It is easy to be a real woman in the presence of a real man.
But to remain a real man without being in the field of vision, aura, pheromones — or whatever else — of a real woman,
to feel oneself a woman without the presence of testosterone-charged males,
this is an art.
It is not an easy art to master, but it is immensely valuable.
And it has nothing to do with breaking oneself.
Rather, it is a skill — one that does not alter your essence, but only its outward expression.
It is like learning proper etiquette.
Gender etiquette.