Alice is caught in the necessity of speculation. We wonder what might have been, if only we had chosen to do otherwise at one point or another in our lives. Perhaps we’d be more courageous, or ambitious, or less foolish.
Or maybe we’d have done more of one thing and less of another. We might have taken more risks in our careers, spent less time chasing men who didn’t serve us best, been more involved in the reality of our dreams, acknowledged our passion, foregone security for the sake of adventure, and examined the possibility of our own possibilities. We are in our thirties, after the seeds have been sewn, after we had the naiveté to be daring, after we became the perception of what a woman should be, before it is perceived as too late. We had guidelines to lead the way, and here we are in fear of becoming our own mothers, waiting for the answers, at risk of losing ourselves. It is a time of critical observation.
Beauty is leopard skin deep.
How do we continue when we have failed our own unrealistic expectations? When we start over, how do we become renewed when our heavy hearts weigh us down? What do you do when you are a lady in waiting for yourself? What happens next? One day, and then another, and then something unexpected to remind us that we are a work in progress.
Our best hinges on circumstance.