“You’re not a princess.
But you can still rule the world." I come across this marketing campaign for
Mercy Academy, an all-girls high school in Louisville, KY and I am blown away.
I subscribe to the power these schools possess to engage and encourage girls to
achieve without the distraction of boys in the classroom. That a school would take it a step further embarking
on such ambitious messaging to attract their target audience makes me believe that
just when I think we’re stalled,
it’s clear the world is in fact
changing.
The idea that there is a place
where girls are guided at such a very young and formative age to write their
own life stories is incredibly uplifting and hopeful. I grow up in the
generation where girls are fully supported and encouraged to go to college, yet
still feel compelled to find my prince so I can assume a traditional role. Although I am educating myself and
starting a career, I presume this is meant to be a fallback plan, in the event
Prince Charming gets detained. Of course I will give this all up to care for my
family. It never occurs to me that my screenplay isn’t original; I don’t really notice that I am doing little more than adapting someone else’s tired material.
Circumstance causes me to hang on
to my career, even in those years where beautiful, happy cherub-like babies and
toddlers with sweet, high-pitched, wonder-filled voices pull on me like a
kedge. Eventually I tear up the manuscript and put the pen in my own hand. I think I am squarely at the helm. And then I see this campaign, meant for girls
who won’t know the kind of wisdom I
possess for decades, and I still feel like somewhere there is a ghost writer
redacting my story.
Yearnings for my prince are palpitant
when I think about following my dreams of entrepreneurism as a writer, an
artist or a coach. In spite of building
a really successful career entirely on my own, what keeps me from taking this
momentous risk is this inbred belief I can’t seem to
shake: In the event I fail, I’ll need my prince to rescue me. It’s completely illogical, really. Men, even sole breadwinners, take these risks
all the time. Why do I still think, in
my fiftieth year on this planet, that, as a woman, I’m not capable of taking this step on my own?
We need to write princes into our
lives for the right reasons. From a practicality
standpoint, an open wallet and insurance coverage come in handy when a start-up
struggles to net enough income to make ends meet. But really, I think that’s my own lame excuse. I’m a savvy
businesswoman. If I want to do this, I’ll protect myself from financial risk and have my
own back-up plan until I’m on my
feet. I think I’m really looking for a whole different kind of
prince; the one who is excited to see me pursue my dreams, the one who will do
whatever I need to help me get there, the one who’s fiercely proud when I succeed.
My hope is that by empowering
girls to write their own stories, to be more than princesses, they come to know
themselves and what it is they want out of life. If they feel confident enough
to pursue their dreams, and a prince is in their story, they’ll approach finding him differently, too. Let’s face it, without a strong sense of self, choosing
the right prince defaults to nothing more than luck. We need our girls to know who they are, what they
need and how to ask for it, so their relationships grow and move forward. The princes these girls write into their life
stories don’t attempt to
alter our girls to fit their lives, but live the sacrifice and compromise that
allows them both to flourish.
“Be more than
a princess” means our girls aren’t limiting themselves for fear they’ll need a rescue, they’re learning they are entitled to say out loud what
they want and need for themselves and are capable of achieving it.
Princes, be
ready.
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