The thing is; a diet plan is easier. Oh, its not easy. Just ask fifty million chocolate and scalloped potatoe craving premenstrual women whether sticking to a meal plan is effortless, and you'll probably land up with a fork in your eye.
Ah, but the apparent simplicity of being handed a Plan. A Plan is concise. It simplifies ones' restlessness. It walls it in, creates columns, tidy checkmark spaces, and a timeline for all your accomplishments. Within the formula lies the promise: when you reach your magical number, you will smell good, look good, have your hair done, have colour on your lips, and you'll finally be happy forevermore, skipping through life in your Calvin Kleins from high school.
Its not messy like the inside of your head. Or your heart.
It assumes that the cravings originate in your stomach, not your thinker, feeler, and wisher. It convinces you that you could sculpt your longings with a bowflex and some protien powder.
For anybody who has walked around with a nameless craving, the shiney advertisements of sleek, demure, peaceful looking thin women makes it pretty easy to believe that losing body bulk would have the same effect as losing mental clutter. Life would be... less cumbersome. Less lumpy. Less vulnerable?
But therein lies the rub. Its the vulnerability that needs to be fully explored. And if I knew how... if I was fairly sure that it wouldn't be a Gerry Springer "bring everyone out of the closet and have them splash their ugliness around, then send them back out into their life bruised and bleeding without offering anything helpful whatsoever" type of event..... then this is sort of what it would look like.
A safe place to go. A place of honesty where every person had an equal share of the floor. An oppurtunity to examine rather deep perceptions and fears, hopes and dreams. Sadnesses. Questions.
Its a big deal to ask someone to just rip their heart open, and then hope you've got a positive direction to go in from that new place of honesty. Its not tidy like a diet plan, all concise with numbers and charts and projections and indexes. But it is a way into the heart of the matter.
And sometimes its worth getting a little bruised along the way.
6 comments:
Speaking of Solanum tuberosum, it has come to my attention that you prefer the Dan Quaylian version with an "e".
Not that there is anything wrong with that.
bahhhhhhhh!!
Only YOU would have me googling Solawhatevunisarium to find out that its a stinkin' potato, and that I've SPELLED it wrong.
Go get a job or something, telling people words that no one else knows. Or start writing grafitti. Or re-write the dictionary. or come for tapass.
You should have seen the Oprah show on Thursday. It was all about Beauty Around The World and their version of what that means. In a West African country called Mauritania...thick ankles, plump arms and a big butt are considered the most beautiful parts of a women. Not only are extra pounds considered sexy, being divorced multiple times means that alot of men want to be with you. Oh ya and the men their love stretch marks too! And get this...the men there are all thin. Who's ready to pack their bags?
it's so funny/ironic that you wanna bring this whole topic out into the light, to have more openness about this, etc., and all it does is make most run in fear...
i dunno, maybe you and i are just too melancholy and introspective that people don't know how to deal with that?
i think i may write a post about that sometime...
and just to let you know, if there ever was a group like the one you mentioned, i would be there in a heartbeat. i really do believe that honesty and realness can really bring healing to us as women. :)
okay so we just keep on trying and do the next thing and in time perhaps something will work...make any sense? "the group"sounds like a good try. Many times you put words to my melancholy thoughts.
well, yeah. To both those last comments.
here's the way I see it. I write something vulnerable and "weird" like that. Some people get it,sort of, and think.... well what would I comment? I don't want to say " the wrong thing", or something trite, or even something that would reveal my own vulnerability. I hear what Joyce is saying, but I'm not ok with commenting right now. (right?) So, its not like bringing something touchy into the light is useless. It can't be.
Or: Holy shit! that girl is more messed up than I ever could have imagined! That makes me feel kind of superior, which is kind of a good feeling. Poor old sap, poor disordered old gal. Geez, i'm glad I'm not her.
to which I say (mentally, of course, in my not-out-loud voice)
well.... its just possible that you're not very self-aware at all. Or very gracious. And so, then you know what? I don't really care very deeply how you choose to perceive ME or the post I just wrote.
OR...
every time that I stick my neck out and speak of this theoretical support group, I continue to remind myself that one day it will become a reality.
funny, and ironic, for sure.
thoughts to melancholy thoughts- highly encouraging.
melancholy and difficult to deal with? oh yeah, that resonates. I hope you write about it.
must go...
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