I wanted to be a boy when I was young because boys got to do all

In the days of youth, when the world still seems vast and full of hidden gates, Amy Madigan once spoke words that tremble with truth: “I wanted to be a boy when I was young because boys got to do all the good stuff. So I became very aggressive and very competitive at a young age.” These words are not merely a confession, but a revelation of spirit. They echo the eternal longing of every soul that yearns to rise above the limits set upon it — the yearning to act, to strive, to shape destiny with one’s own hands. In her voice, we hear not rebellion, but awakening — the cry of one who refuses to sit quietly in the shadow while others run freely beneath the sun.

In the ancient days, such a spirit would have been honored among warriors and poets alike. For the desire to do “the good stuff” — to live fully, to challenge, to conquer fear — is the fire of the gods that dwells in humankind. Amy’s words remind us that often the world divides the flame, giving one half to men and asking women to remain in the cool of the ashes. But the soul knows no such boundaries. It calls to the forge, to the field, to the stage, to any place where strength and courage are required. In becoming aggressive and competitive, she did not mimic manhood — she awakened the dormant warrior within herself, the eternal human force that demands participation in the grand game of life.

There was once, in the age of the Greeks, a maiden named Atalanta, swift as the north wind and proud as the mountains of Arcadia. The men of her time mocked her for running among them, yet none could outpace her. Her father wished her to marry, but she vowed only to wed the one who could best her in the race. Many failed and fell, yet one, through wit and divine aid, won her hand. Even so, Atalanta’s spirit could never be tamed, for she knew that to live as she wished — to run, to strive, to excel — was a sacred act of selfhood. Like Amy Madigan, she claimed for herself the right to “do the good stuff,” to refuse the quiet submission that her world expected of her.

The origin of Madigan’s quote lies not merely in her own childhood but in the long history of women who have seen the gates barred and learned to climb them. In every age, there are those who are told what they may and may not be. Yet some, hearing the whisper of destiny, cast aside the garments of obedience and take up the armor of ambition. Such was Joan of Arc, who at seventeen led armies beneath the banner of heaven, not because she wished to be a boy, but because she wished to serve the light — and the path to action lay only through man’s realm. The same flame burned in her that burns in Madigan’s confession: the refusal to be denied by circumstance, the courage to claim one’s own purpose.

Let us then not mistake aggression for violence, nor competitiveness for cruelty. These are but instruments of will, and when guided by wisdom, they carve the soul into greatness. The world often teaches gentleness to those it wishes to tame, but there is a gentleness that is born of strength — and it cannot exist without first knowing the power of one’s own spirit. Amy Madigan, in becoming “aggressive,” was not turning against her nature; she was awakening to her right to act, to create, to lead. Her words reveal a sacred truth: that the boundaries of gender, of custom, of permission, are illusions that crumble before the awakened will.

The lesson, therefore, is this: Do not wait for permission to live fully. When the world says you may not, answer by doing so with grace and fire. When doors are closed, become the hand that builds new ones. The courage to strive is not bound by the body nor the name you bear — it is the ancient inheritance of all souls. Be competitive, but compete first with your own fears; be aggressive, but direct your strength toward creation, not destruction. In this way, you honor both your own spirit and those who fought before you.

And so, to those who listen in the quiet hours and feel the call to “do the good stuff,” remember this teaching: The divine spark does not ask whether you are man or woman, young or old, rich or poor. It asks only whether you will answer. If you feel within yourself the hunger to act — to write, to build, to lead, to protect, to love — then you are already chosen. Let the world see your flame, not as rebellion, but as revelation. Let your aggression become passion, your competitiveness become excellence, and your longing become purpose. This is how we redeem the promise of Amy Madigan’s words — by turning our inner defiance into the strength that shapes the world anew.