The Sidewalk

I was out for a walk yesterday evening around sunset, the world painted in orange and violet. Meandering down the sidewalk, I saw two people approaching me: a man and a woman. They were taking up the narrow sidewalk, embroiled in a conversation.

Perhaps I should have moved to the other side of the sidewalk, where I'd come face-to-face with the woman. She would have moved behind the man, giving way without thought to a fellow traveler. I could see it in her face, the unconscious prepping to move aside, to make way, to be pliant and moveable and a "team player" in the greater scheme of life.

I, too, had the impulse to move that way, or perhaps to move off the sidewalk altogether to make way. To be compliant. Malleable.

I had just put together a website for myself, just finished it that evening. Just published it, cringing with every press of the button, sure I shouldn't force myself or my work on the world like this. Everyone says that you need a professional-looking website in order for the world to take you seriously, to begin to treat you like a professional, but I felt guilty. Guilty of making way for myself instead of others.

I was still on a collision course with the couple walking toward me. Instead of moving to the other side of the sidewalk, across from the woman, I steeled myself and kept walking. Sure, I moved to the edge of the sidewalk, but I didn't move off it. The man barely glanced my way as he barreled toward me. I thought he'd move eventually, either behind or in front of the woman, but he didn't. He just kept moving forward: he is man, not compliant or malleable. The sidewalk is his domain -- the world is his domain -- and he's not going to move an inch.

As he got ever-closer, I had to quell my urge to just move off the sidewalk in to the grass. How many times have I moved out of the way, moved onto the grass? How many times have I stepped aside, how many times have I not stepped forward?

I held my ground. He just kept moving forward. When he passed me, he nearly pushed me off the sidewalk. He never did glance my direction. He never did notice that he was taking up the entire sidewalk. Instead, he pushed the woman next to him to the edge on her side, and pushed me to the edge on my side -- without even thinking about it, he felt his place was the center of attention. He felt he had the right to step forward.

I looked back at him, aghast. And then I realized that the person I was most aghast at was myself: it was because of me, and others like me, who constantly step aside, that men like that think it's ok to dismiss women on the sidewalk. It's so ingrained it's not even thought about. And my own habits are just as deeply ingrained: I feel guilty when I don't move out of other people's way; whenever I put myself and my work out in the public eye, I'm sure that my work should step aside.

But not anymore.

It is my right to walk on the sidewalk.