A chic couple promenades Shaker Square, dressed for a night on the town. 

She's obviously taken pains with her look.  Crisp blouse, low slung capris with a wide belt, shiny black stilettos.  He has too.  Loose shirt.  Faded jeans.  Flip flops. 

He looks rather relaxed.  She looks, well, unrelaxed.  Hers is the obligatory smile of the beauty contestant - confident (I look great) and exhausted (I can't wait to get out of these heels).

It baffles me to see the stilted woman ratcheting down streets and hallways alongside the loping male.  The typical explanation for my heel-height-hectoring - that I'm a feminazi who can't let people have a little fun with their finery - ignores my experience coming up.  Dues paid to the female fashion establishment was not only a given, it was a distraction from much better use of my time.  I'm told this hasn't changed much.

A middle school principal says her most talented girls quit sports and debating teams, tone down their academic promise and ramp up the glamour as soon as they discover boys are watching.  Girls turn to blush and bras, shoes and shimmer to swivel the boys' heads.   

It's not universal (thankfully), but ubiquitous is bad enough.  In my case, I think it had a lot to do with questioning my competence at certain things.

This morning I realized I was so bogged down by vague worries, I couldn't focus.  I started a list of angst that ranged from my jobless brother-in-law to Obama's imminent speech in Cairo to next steps in the performance biz - the list could have filled a hundred pages.  So I ripped it up and faced my amp.

What's my poor neglected Spider III got to do with high heels or wheels of worry? 

My female kind is trained to handle repetitivie tasks and social niceties.  That I was less challenged to break things down and figure them out than my male counterparts wasn't the fault of my parents.  It was a societal norm that deprived me of experience with things like guitar amps.  Meanwhile, things like guitar amps build a confidence that diminishes fear and anguish.

Although I've long since sworn off high heels and other distractions, their legacy lingers.  This amp is a monster of potential sound and fury signifying... freedom!  So I tell myself a story.  I'm a high school boy with a Fender Strat and a Line 6 Spider III amp and a mom reminding him to keep it down and a dad telling him to mow the lawn and nobody expecting him to navigate his future on flimsy footwear or untamed anxieties.

I have an absolute blast.

Composite image Susan Weber, based on effects pedal photo by Louis Waweru, Creative Commons Attribution ShareAlike 3.0 License and high heels photo by Tu Foto, Creative Commons Attribution 2.0 License