The Gritty Magic of a Man in a Bush
Navigating the midlife estrogen dip, the "safety manual" for women, and the reclamation of our right to answer only to ourselves.
One of the places magic often shows up for me is on my neighborhood walks. Being out in the elements, letting the sky do whatever it’s going to do is a freeing experience.
It’s my sanctuary. Until it isn’t.
I was taking in the California sunshine, listening to the birds get excited about spring coming, when I spotted a man by a bush.
My first thought—because I am a person who prefers to believe the best of humanity, or at least the most mundane—was: Oh, he’s peeing. A classic, if slightly uncouth, outdoor activity. But as the distance between us closed, his arm movements suggested something far more... industrious. He wasn’t emptying his bladder; he was, quite efficiently, jacking off in the mid-afternoon sun I had just moments before been enjoying.
Now, according to the Standard Manual for Being a Woman in Public, this is the part where I should have executed a crisp 180-degree turn, perhaps while using the move I learned in kung fu class that turns my middle finger knuckle into a defense weapon.
Although I did feel a pang of fear, what engulfed me was a wave of profound, soul-deep irritation. The irritation wasn’t about him. It was about navigating the decades of social conditioning rushing to the surface. I found myself in defense mode before there was even a confirmed threat.
Midlife and the estrogen dip that comes with it means the patience for having my space invaded by these old scripts is at an all-time low. I was so damn tired of my default response being to accommodate someone else’s needs over my own.
This dude by the bush was right in the path of my “freedom walk”. I had committed to walking the hill just past him. I wanted that hill. Why did his “afternoon activity” have to become my logistics problem?
I decided it didn’t. I was not going to listen to the frantic “safety protocols” in my head, I was going to listen to the truth in my gut and stay the course.
As I got closer to him, I didn’t see a predator. I saw a young Black man who was homeless and clearly struggling. My discomfort shifted immediately into a deep, heavy wave of compassion. Because let’s be real: in the world we live in, a Black man in a mental health crisis doing that in public is a recipe for a tragedy I didn’t want to witness.
So, I didn’t avoid, I leaned in and spoke.
“Dude, what are you doing? You can’t do that here. You’re going to get in trouble. Seriously, stop doing that.”
With zero aggression and in a voice so meek and polite it caught me completely off guard, he simply said: “Thank you.”
I started up the hill—the climb felt like a strange physical reflection of the work I had just done to hold onto my right to stay on my chosen route.
But as I reached the top, I realized I had just experienced a bit of everyday magic. Usually, magic is all sunbeams and sparkles, but sometimes it’s gritty and awkward.
By staying on my path and speaking up, I claimed my freedom and gave the young man by the bush a moment of raw, human honesty. His “thank you” was the spark—a tiny, strange bridge built between two people just trying to survive the afternoon.
It was a moment of connection that still left me sitting with the heavy part: How the hell do we actually get free when we live in a culture that does not make women’s safety a priority?
If we let the reality of that lack of safety dictate every choice we make, we lose pieces of ourselves—the right to walk where we want, dress how we want, and speak our truth. But fighting for that freedom every single day is labor. It’s heavy. It shouldn’t be this much work just to exist.
I don’t have the answer to how we dismantle a society that doesn’t prioritize our safety, but I know that choosing to live below the neck—where I can listen to my heart and follow my intuition—is how I find the courage to choose freedom over accommodation.
Speaking of freedom…
One of the ways I’m reclaiming mine is by creating spaces where we don’t have to “work” to feel safe or liberated. Places where we can just be.
I’m hosting a no cost Daytime Disco in my urban garden on Saturday, March 21st to celebrate the Spring Equinox. We’re reclaiming the high-energy magic of a night out, just… without the actual night part.
If you’re a woman in midlife and in Los Angeles or will be in town on March 21st, I’d love to see you there. DM me and I’ll send over the deets.
The Joybellion wants to hear from you: Where do you feel most free? What stories do you have about navigating the tension between safety and freedom? Leave a comment below.
New here? This is a gathering place for disobedient women in midlife. Ditch people-pleasing, reclaim your power. No self-help—just self-liberation and magic.
That is not where I expected this story to go, which I think is its own form of magic. 💫