Playing Samantha Jones

Kim Cattrall isn't the only one who is tired of it.

Since the dawn of “Sex And The City,” I related to what seemed to be a larger than life character, Samantha Jones. Anyone who knew anything about “Sex And The City” knows Samantha Jones. She’s sultry, tough and resilient, but she’s loyal to her friends. She can smooth over anyone’s distress with a single, well placed, sexual innuendo. People, regardless of which character they most related to watched the show to watch Samantha. What will she say and who will she do next? I mean without Samantha and Big, did the show even have a point?

From a young age, I was forbidden and guilted from exploring my body let alone sharing it with others. Yet somehow as I grew up, I really enjoyed sex. I was Samantha before Samantha was Samantha. My sexual exploration started at the age of 17 when my friend, Mavie referred to me as “the virgin who likes spankings” about 5 years prior to the show’s premier. I remember as the show got rolling telling friends, “Oh, please, with your goodie drawer. I have a goodie CLOSET!” It was a great line and although it came from Samantha originally, it was already true for me. I had more partners than I can name, and like Samantha, I never felt a drop of regret about it. I was on a quest, but it wasn’t designed to be a sexual one. I was finding myself and looking for partnership. The mind blowing sex just seemed an added perk of the mission at hand. I did explore all aspects of sexuality from role playing to BDSM to fun geographic locations to very public displays of affection and by affection I mean… You get the picture.

I occasionally took on the role of sex therapist for a few boyfriends, rehabilitating them in their bodies as sexually healthy human beings. I dated people who suffered crushing sexual rejections, botched circumcisions and even one 40 year old virgin labeled by my friends as “Karen’s virgin conquest,” I stood up to the challenge and claimed the title of “The Sexorcist.” Well, I actually gave that title to myself… as a joke… but it fit. Amateur sex therapy was emotionally and intellectually rewarding but also, fun! In another life, I could have been a successful, sexual surrogate.

I really cared for and about the guys I dated and wanted them to have the most in life. I didn’t just date the sexually infirmed. I dated masters of sex and people who helped me to relate to sex in more healthy ways. Relating to boyfriends as a personal coach and a healer didn’t stop with sexual healing. I helped kick mom after mom out of the lives of single guys who didn’t know how to do boundaries with their folks. I left almost every guy better than I found him. A divorcee thanked me for helping him get his parents into another living situation after we split. They’d moved in with him transitionally after his divorce to help out with his kids. After a time, he couldn’t figure out how to ask them nicely to leave. Apparently, me having screaming orgasms all over the house when they were in their room gave them the motivation to find more independent living arrangements without him ever having to say a word.

One boyfriend’s mom was a tough customer. When I finally got that guy to push back a little and get his mom to stand down, I called my mom to thank her for not being up in my adult business. I ended up getting kudos from my own boundary trampling mom. “You always had good boundaries. You never hesitate to tell me when to fuck off.”

She was wrong, though. I didn’t always have good boundaries. Upon reflection, we had a disturbing lack of boundaries in our relationship, me and my mom. She imposed a lot of things on my body without ever asking if I was ok with it or without establishing any trust. I witlessly found myself allowing my mother to insert my first tampon. “Allowing” isn’t even the right word. The tampon was not the skinny kind with an applicator. It was an O.B. and I learned that day to expand the O.B. tampons by stretching the string in every direction against the tampon to open it up before sticking my finger in it so the tampon was as wide as I could get it prior to insertion to avoid leakage spilling out the sides. Since lubrication that might keep the tampon from being as absorbent as possible was not used, I believe my “hymen breaking” moment painfully happened that day laying on our bathroom floor. My body didn’t start out as my own. If it wasn’t outright violence, I often observed like a robot as a lot of terrible things happened to me. While it hurt and I screamed and cried while it was happening because I didn’t want to do it, it still took years before I knew anything was wrong with that scenario, with what my mom did and not to blame my body for hurting or myself for crying about it “like a big baby.” With my mom, I was kind of thrown into the deep end of the pool. I had to sink or swim in regard to establishing my boundaries with my mom throughout my life. My friend and fellow parental trauma survivor, Raylene is always reminding me how much the narcissistic aspects of our parents on our childhoods have effected how we process and show up now. I had to learn who I was as an individual separate from my mother, not as her property, so I could even see what was appropriate versus inappropriate behavior on her part or anyone’s part toward me today.

I did eventually become the quintessential double Scorpio. Dark, sexual energy, intense conversations, a stinging tongue that made several grown men cry and beg my forgiveness. I wasn’t always that way. I remember my friend, Gale in my senior year, high school gym class asking me what sign I was. She was into astrology and wanted to guess. I told her she’d never guess as I was the exact opposite of my astrological sign. She shouted, “SCORPIO?!?” almost incredulously. It wasn’t just my mom who challenged my childhood identity. I played a lot of roles to make my dad happy as well: obedient, good daughter, quiet and meek, never talking back, not speaking unless spoken to. I was more like a dog than a person but without the treats. I know what you are thinking, you did WHAT!? Who the fuck even are you? IMPOSTER!!! How I was taught to behave sounds nothing like who I am today. With my dad, I had to learn to become true to myself.

Both of my parents had unique ways of challenging my sovereignty. Finding myself, being true to me and establishing autonomy were the lessons shared in the book I wrote in 2019, “Autobiography Of A Nobody: From Floundering to Freedom.” My experiences in life have become a literal open book to help others. As this Substack is testament, I continue to share as I learn and grow.

While all this fabulous, unapologetic, soothing Samantha energy is cherished, there’s a part of “playing” Samantha I have come to loathe. Yes, I like to try new things. Yes, I literally ran naked in the wilderness for a few years. Yes, I have picked non traditional career hats from posing as a nude, desert landscape, figure model and a card carrying, University faculty art school program model, from honing my skills as an acupressure and deep tissue massage therapist, from writing online dating profiles and consulting singles looking for true love, from wood working in a magician’s garage and performing on stage as a contortionist and his disappearing assistant, from ministry student at a Center for Spiritual Living, from coloring and perming hair piece systems (aka toupees) at Hair Club For Men, from walking and sleeping with dogs as an overnight, sometimes long term, pet sitter and from becoming a self-published, Amazon best selling, chart climbing, author, graphic designer, book formatter and creative editor. I couldn’t just take the desk job. I have long known I am unconventional. Even though I can pass for the conservative woman who grew up performing piano pieces at political fundraisers in my parent’s living room for senators and congressmen, I have always attracted and been attracted to artists and outliers. I really couldn’t fit into the mold of an average day job. Believe me. I tried. My Samantha qualities would eventually slip out and inadvertently blow everything up for me. So I adapted and learned to lead with it.

This is how I started meeting new people AS Samantha Jones, not the name but the character. For most people I’ve met, it has been a disarming approach, and we got most my weirdness out of the way right up front. But, she’s only an aspect of me, and I only lead with it for protection intending to add more of me as I get to know people better.

Many people LOVE her, though, and this becomes the tricky bit. They love her so much they want me to be on- as her- all the time. As big as that character seems, it still doesn’t have my humanity and dimension. It is missing a lot of other colors that are on my pallet. One such color is my deep, deep introversion. I LOVE being alone, and I like to sometimes crawl into my own figurative cave and hide. I am just as unapologetic about that side of me as I am with my wild sex life. It’s not a character people can relate to, though, when we are out together in a public setting. In fact, I play it out by canceling dates, dressing way down in sweats or pajamas, not wearing make up, throwing my hair in a scrunchy and should I meet up with a friend or group of friends, sitting in the back of the room or choosing a corner table and observing. I am always observing, but when I am in this mode, I really let others run the show. My friend, Cindy B used to call it my camouflaged mode. The people in my life who have really seen me over the years not only accept but really cherish all the wonderous and often background facets to my personality.

This is where I pull the Jenn Psaki and circle back to the point. Not only can I not do Samantha all the time, I do not wish to.

I.do.not.wish.to.

I’m just coming to this acknowledgement. I don’t have to constantly smooth everything over for the sake of others with sexual innuendos. I don’t have to be the funny one, the crowd pleaser or the clown. I only have to show people my breasts when I want to and on my terms, even after a breast reduction surgery. I don’t have to model for the surgery. These statements may seem like nothing but obvious to most people, but to me, it’s been a giant leap in my recent, personal development. With the boob thing, it’s not that I care about people seeing me naked. It’s just that sometimes I’m more comfortable in my clothes. I don’t walk around my house topless and never have. Shirts are comfortable, like slippers. I don’t care if anyone sees my feet, but I shouldn’t feel obligated to take my slippers off on demand when my feet are comfortable inside socks or slippers. That’s been the issue, an obvious remnant from my conscripted childhood. I feel guilty NOT being Samantha when people expect it. I show up, and people are like “Samantha’s here!”, at least energetically. There are days, I don’t have the patience, tenacity, much less the inclination for it, whether it be taking my top off or pretending to be in a mood I’m not.

I’ve been watching the interviews with Kim Cattrall, and it’s fascinating to hear why she walked away from Samantha Jones. Like, she has ZERO desire to reprise that role. She got paid the big bucks for it, too. In real life, she says she doesn’t relate to the character at all, never has. When I listen to Kim Cattrall, it feels like she was playing me. But for Cattrall, being Samantha Jones wasn’t all roses. Everyone begged her to return to the show, but she felt that playing that character after a time wasn’t expanding her any more as an actress. At first, she’d just outgrown it, leaving the character behind with fond feelings. Then, the media machine started all kinds of stupid drama to manipulate her into coming back, adding a sour taste to the bitter sweet. Kudos to Kim Cattrall for not hearing any of it. She stood her ground and enjoys the rewards now of acting in more expansive roles on stage. Here am I, conversely, feeling guilty about not wanting to play a character they could not bribe the actress into for hundreds of thousands if not millions of dollars.

Boundary-teacher-lady, heal thyself. Just do you.

My goal this year as I am teaching boundaries to others is to stay present to my moment to moment feelings and to honor them. It sounds cliché, but don’t take it personally if you ask to see my new boobs and I decline when I’m not exactly in the mood for it. I am listening to me now.

I pledge to be more aware of the give and take of relationships. I want my relationships to be and do cooperation. If I feel like I must entertain to keep things afloat, I might start stepping back from the roles and into my authenticity to see whether or not we really have what it takes to be friends. I hope my friendships weather this adjustment.

I want more anarchy and particularly agorist friends. Anarchists get me. When I say I microdosed magic mushrooms, they tell me I should try a museum dose. I don’t shock anarchists. They’re all weirdos, so we’re on the same weirdo page. They won’t ever describe me as any kind of rebel but rather as a responsible and somewhat tempered thinker among the group. This is the major distinction between me with my tribe and me going off reservation. I am not a novelty with my tribe. I’m not the token weirdo invited to the party to impress friends. “Look, what we have today. Yes, she never hesitates to call a manager. You know her and love her. Ladies and gentlemen, heeeeeeeeeere’s Karen!” I can just chill, blend and even camouflage when I am inclined but still be appreciated for my raunchy sense of humor as it erupts from within-like it do.

I am working toward building my network of family friends and getting more couple friends. My best friend in the whole wide world is my husband. We connect spiritually, philosophically, intellectually and sexually. While I don’t have to do everything with him, we self-isolate from one another enough during the day as it is with our varied passions and work commitments. I don’t want to exclude him from parts of my life that I know he’d enjoy or rather, we’d enjoy experiencing together. This will be a major focus for me this year. I want to have more friends that Aaron and I can go out with and share in our respective family triumphs and sorrows. I want to start building community.

Last, I want to get back to the goal getting, up-spacing, decluttering, passionate, artistically creating, wild woman that I am. Or if I can’t get her back, I’m ready to upgrade to the 2.0 version. You see, I sing, I cook, I grow food, I paint, I draw, I design, I write, I sew. I love fashion and furniture and style. I love upcycling things (like this Karen shaped thingy) into something far more fabulous, powerful and useful.

When I describe all this that I am and that I am becoming, the Samantha Jones character kind of falls into the background. Sure it’s an authentic part of me, but as a married, creative and ambitious mother of two, Samantha starts to fall behind. It’s becoming more and more of a superfluous aspect in my larger framework. One of the most important lessons I have learned about creating boundaries is to see them as a framework, one that is ever expanding to hold more and more of the things I want in my life. It’s not about zooming in and closing the shutter. It’s about holding up a camera to your life and stepping back far enough to capture all the good life can offer! It’s about holding the shutter open to allow more light and movement. Also, like Kim Cattrall has demonstrated, it’s about focusing within that frame so clearly on what you do want that any bullshit outside the frame disappears. It’s non existent in the final print.

This isn’t goodbye to Samantha Jones for me. But with a wider angle in 2022, there will be a lot more important dreams coming true and taking places of prominence in the big picture. The thing is, I take my prompts for who to be, how to show up and what to strive for from divine guidance. That’s a whole other process and story, but suffice to say, with The Divine as my creative director I can never go wrong.

Keep watching in 2022. There’s a whole lot of prints in development.