Lightning in a Mason Jar

by Catherine Mann

Changing my identity and leaving behind everything familiar should have been difficult. Traumatic, even. Except it wasn’t. Because from birth, we women aren’t tethered to our names.

Marriage may turn a Jane Smith into Jane Brown or Jane Jones.

As if a woman’s entire worth, her sum total sense of self, were tied into her ring finger and uterus. A Mrs. or a mom.

Some people had to come to the realization that their parents were imperfect humans who were doing life for the first time too.

Over time I learned all those nuances that too often got lost when relationships progressed at a fast pace, rushing to connect rather than savoring each layer of the person. To reveal their character. Or discover red flags.

“You’re more beautiful than any of them.”

Because his compliment had more to do with me as a person than the external.

Why had it taken me so long to see her hidden message to her daughter and any other females out there? Maintain a clean house, stay pretty as a peach, and keep your children quiet. The stakes for doing otherwise were high. Life or death.

“You’re worth the wait,” he said. “You’re my lightning in a bottle, that once-in-a-lifetime event. Difficult. Challenging. And exciting beyond belief.” “We’re in the South,” I reminded him. “So that should be lightning in a Mason jar.”

Then he kissed me, one of those familiar kisses that couples share after years together, when they know there will be more. A “goodbye for now, see you soon” kind of kiss.