Sunset Sees

When I was a tiny kid, my dad would often firmly but calmly respond to my questions: ‘Think, Amanda, think.’

My dad wasn’t quick to answer our “dumb” questions. He didn’t try to fix everything for me. He made me read maps while he was driving, and held me accountable for a wrong turn or a missed exit. He didn’t make things easy for me.

On purpose.

Yet somehow, throughout my life, I’ve dated men who would mockingly throw lines at me—’Maybe you shouldn’t read so much,’ ‘You’re too smart for your own good,’ or ‘Check out the big brains on Sunset.’ They’d sarcastically sigh, ‘Yes, Sunset has all the answers.’

And that has often left me genuinely confused.

What is the alternative? Can someone please fill me in on the memo?

Because I was raised to think, question, learn, figure things out, take responsibility, and help others. Apparently this is awful wrong and worthy of ridicule and contempt.

So sometimes I wonder if I simply wasn’t bred to date the way people so easily—or freely—do.

I was raised to think independently to ever feel comfortable pretending I don’t.

Many times I’ve pictured that the best way to describe how my position feels is to compare it to a feline trapped in a cage—heavily panting, pacing to and fro from every corner with a restless mind and a heavy heart.

So please don’t hold me back—not in thoughts, words, or energy. And in the words of my father, ‘If you’re not helping, get outta the way.’

At this point in my life, I can’t satisfy anyone’s need for me to sit pretty and stroke egos. I’ve got things to do and places to be.

Sorry, darlin’, I can’t be your pretty decoration—I’m not a ‘do-nothing bitch.’ Time to catch a plane. And I’m out!

My name is Sunset Amanda. And I choose to think brighter.