Of Mess and Moxie: Wrangling Delight Out of This Wild and Glorious Life
Jen Hatmaker
INTRODUCTION
It has recently come to my attention that not everyone jammed to country music in the nineties. My lifespan that decade was from age sixteen to twenty-six, so those musicians literally sang me through high school, college, early marriage, and young motherhood. I entered the nineties as a junior in high school and left it married with two kids. I logged all those years in Kansas, Oklahoma, and Texas, so country music was our state genre, our shared anthem. I thought this was ubiquitous until my adult friends chastised me for favoring Garth over Nirvana. I obviously have friends in low places.
My Pandora station of choice to this living day is Trisha Yearwood. Faith, Alison, Shania, Martina, Jo Dee, The Chicks, Reba—these girls, with their high-waisted jeans and belly shirts—sang me through new independence and the sharp thrill of young adulthood. I cannot locate a memory during those years that isn’t tied to their collective music.
One of my tip-top favorite artists was Martina McBride, who later gave us an anthem for the ages: “This One’s for the Girls.”
What I want to do is insert the lyrics here, but I would basically need Martina to drive to my house, hold my hand, recite the Constitution, and sign off in her own blood (lyric permissions are harder to secure than a date to prom with Bradley Cooper). Girls, download the song, grab a glass of wine, and remember why being a woman among women is a gift and a treasure.
In her beautiful tribute to sisterhood, Martina dedicates each verse to women in varying stages of life, decade by decade, identifying with them in all their angst, hopes, and glory. I belt this song out on the back of Brandon’s motorcycle so passionately, he has to tap my leg lest I distract him with my performance.
In the tender spirit of Martina’s love song to women from middle school to great-grandmotherhood, I want to welcome you to this book, this space, this sisterhood.
This is for all you girls about twenty-three. You’re here, bursting into adulthood. We who are ahead of you are so glad you made it! We’ve been raising you, watching you, cheering you on. You are trying on this new grown-up suit, and it feels amazing and terrifying and thrilling and weird. You are in charge of you now. You’re trotting out dreams and ideas, and none of them feels as simple as you imagined four years ago. Life is grittier and a wee bit less hospitable than you envisioned when the world was your oyster, protecting your dreams from harsher conditions.
But here you are. You are young and beautiful, fresh and energetic. It’s your turn to begin a new story. You’ll slog through entry-level jobs and sticky relationships and rent and health insurance just like we all did, and you’ll make it, just like we all did. This one is for you. Listen to those of us twenty years ahead of you: This life is not a race or a contest, there is enough abundance to go around, your seat at the table is secure, and you have incredible gifts to offer. You are not in competition with your peers. Be a good sister. Be brave enough to take your place and humble enough to learn and share. We are so glad you are here. We believe in you, we love you, we are thrilled to welcome you to the tribe.
This is for all you girls around thirty-eight. You may be in the thick of the Family Years, and life is joyful and tedious and tender and bananas. You never knew you were capable of such juggling and feel like you get it right around 33 percent of the time. Marriage has worn a trusted groove, and also it is hard. You’ve relinquished young adult angst and narrowed in on your gifts, your preferences, the stuff that gets you out of bed in the morning and begs to be brought forth. But life is really crowded, so many need you, and sometimes the competing voices wear you out, wear you down. You have some really beautiful dreams; some of them are already realized, some are half-baked, some live privately in your secret stash of yearnings.
You’ve earned those laugh lines, those stretch marks, those pesky gray hairs. Your body has served you well; it has maybe even delivered whole human beings. But, in any case, it has carried you halfway through your life. This one is for you. I am your true sister, right here in the middle with you. I’ve watched you mother and sister and serve with such courage and loyalty, I can barely believe I get to claim this generation alongside you. You won’t find a bigger fan than me. I am convinced there is nothing we cannot tackle, solve, endure, or dream. You’re smart. Your work is meaningful, and it is mattering. I am proud of you, proud to belong to you. I believe in us.
This is for all you girls about fifty-nine. You’ve done it! You raised the kids, survived the crowded years, and five-plus decades of life look so good on you. Those of us coming up behind you are watching in awe. We see you with your beautiful faces and those hands that have accomplished so much. We are slow clapping, because you are our mentors and your example tells us that we, too, are going to make it. Your careers and achievements are heroic. You paved a lot of ground that we are now walking on confidently. You won battles that we no longer have to fight. You made a way for the women behind you. We honor you.
What is life after the next generation is raised and gone? I’m no psychic, but I’m guessing one big party. You’re grandmothering now maybe—all the fun and none of the responsibility. Maybe it feels a little disorienting? I imagine after living certain roles for two or three decades, it might seem confusing to write a new chapter later in the game. This one is for you. I believe we never outgrow fresh dreams and courage, and I assure you we still need your voice, your leadership, your presence—now more than ever. It’s never too late to become stronger. As long as we are breathing air, we have a role to play. Sisterhood is lifelong.