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to the Left of Me
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The Corner An online magazine dedicated to saying it like it is.
2007 April 9, 2007 - Clowns to the Left of
Me, Spiders to the Right... 2006
Forty is the New Fifteen When you hit a milestone, in numbers, you start assessing the same old tired clichés: What's it all mean? You know, life, death, and everything in between. At 39, I've racked up a lot of questions, a few answers but mostly confusion. But now, literally on the eve of my 40th birthday I'm finding myself in a place of curious contemplation. What it all means matters less than; When's it gonna be here? It being, that wonderful feeling people in their 40s have been seducing me with called "ease". You know that feeling of "I don't give a shit". Was that all a trick to get me to join the club? Misery does love company. I don't think I signed anything. If I did it was under duress. My 30s have not been full of ease. Though I acknowledge the term used as a state of mind not an accounting of events. Still, I'd love to sue God for the last decade or at least get a credit that could be applied toward wrinkles obtained as a result of unsatisfactory years. Admittedly, the last year has brought about a dramatic change in attitude for me. Maybe it was the near death experience I had last summer that finally neutralized my defenses. Being bitten by a poisonous spider's enough to disarm almost any ego. The ordeal left me with enough pride to fill up a push up bra and that's about it. There is something sexy about 40. Seriously. Look at some examples of woman who are in their 40s, Demi Moore, Diane Lane, Halle Berry, Teri Hatcher, Sarah Jessica Parker. There's some hotties in that 40s club! Granted, most of them have a trainer, a chef, stylist, botox, and a personal assistant to hold up their ass. Nonetheless, they give credence to the argument, "life begins at forty". A close male friend recently told me that he prefers women in their late thirties/forties because they are at their most attractive. This, he believes is due to a greater sense of confidence and (here it comes....) ease, both physically and emotionally. This is true. Lets face it, if we don't know our own bodies by 40, receipt or not, there's no chance for a return. There is truth to the spiritual calm as well. One thing I've observed lately about women in their 20s is that they appear to be really uncomfortable in their own skin. There's a lot of angst going on with 20-somethings. They travel in packs, probably to shield insecurity. They fidget. Hey, I don't care how hot you are, nervous twitching only works for Woody Allen. And it ain't sexy. They also have a shield that seems impenetrable unless you have something really spectacular too offer them. I'd hate to be a 20-year-old guy trying to break down those walls. Was I that beleaguered in my 20s? I guess so. I was definitely more concerned about how I looked and what people thought about me. Now I could give a rat's ass. That's not true. It's more that now the feeling of pressure has been replaced with awareness. We definitely become more interesting with age. If I met me in a bar when I was in my 20s, I wouldn't have asked for my number. I might have taken me out back and thrown me over the hood my car but that's about it. The conversation is more stimulating now that I've ripened a bit. Not that I'm bashing women in their 20s. As far as I'm concerned each decade has its selling points. But the older I get, the more I have to offer, in every way. Sexually speaking, we are definitely at our peak when we hit the almost 40 mark. Maybe part of it does relate to feeling more comfortable with our bodies. All I know is when I hit my late thirties a fire was lit down south and it's not from the Ben Gay. So what am I upset about? Seemingly, 40 looks pretty f*ckin good. True, there will be more signs of age but the internal attributes are simply gorgeous. Yes, there's the ever-present judgment call from birds all over the east coast, mainly familial. Their tune sounds something like this; "When ya gonna settle down? Get a house? Get a married again? What about kids? That ship may have sailed!" Well if that ship has sailed there's a plane right behind it to China. So everybody's got their own path and all that crap, it's all how you feel, who cares what people say, blah blah blah. Still, I am somewhat apprehensive about turning 40. When I was a teenager, shit when I was in my 20s, 40 sounded so damn old! But that was another era. 40 was old 20 years ago. Remember that show Thirty Something? Hated it. I thought it was so pretentious and I couldn't relate. Then when I hit my 30s, I thought shit, nobody I know is living that Thirty Something life! They seemed to me more like people I knew in their 40s. By that argument, now they seem more like people who today are in their 50s. If I keep this up pretty soon 40 will be the new 10. Maybe it's not fear maybe it's nostalgia. Perhaps I'm feeling sad about saying goodbye to my 30s. After all, victims often fall in love with their tormentors. Honestly after much thought I can't figure out what the big deal is. Perhaps John Patrick Shanley said it best in his screenplay for MOONSTRUCK, "Maybe it's because we fear death." That's it! That's definitely it. And fear it I do. Which probably explains why I'm afraid of flying. And clowns. I guess I'm not truly at ease, or at peace. Well, who could be with all those clowns flitting about. If I died today, I'd leave behind an incomplete life. That's truly how I feel. Oh sure I could play the angel on the other shoulder and spit out all my accomplishments, loved ones, friends, etc. etc. Bottom line, I still feel as though I've got something to prove. So the question running around my head giving me a killer migraine is, will I prove it in my 40s? Will, on the eve of 50, I be feeling the same way? Does anyone ever really prove what they feel they gotta? Or is it all bullshit? Life isn't measured by proof of ownership. Life should be measured by the convergence of balance and existence. I have no idea what that means. F*ck, I'm still pissed about turning 40! No, I think what it means is this; life is measured by what you do with what you've been given to work with and how you find peace with what you've done. Supposedly, at 40 the light starts to shine on this concept. So now it's up to me whether I embrace it or buy a red sports car. In summation, I offer this quote by Australian writer Colleen McCullough, "The lovely thing about being forty is that you can appreciate twenty-five-year-old men more." And I have. And I will. 40? Bring it baby.
Making Sense of an Old Emotion Lets start with prose... What happens when you fall in love? You smile What happens when your heart is broken? You fall hard What happens now? You breath
Lord knows love has been examined and re-examined endlessly in song.
Here's a few I picked out that really speak to my current varied feelings on the
subject of amore, and more specifically, heartache.
You love her Love stinks yeah yeah (Love stinks) I've been through diamonds (Love stinks)
Rows and floes of angel hair I've looked at life from both sides now
The Karma Blog This piece was intended to serve as a cathartic healing method
for my summer of hell. Frankly, I'm getting sick of living in
that moment. So it evolved. Now it transforms again into the
official WALL OF KARMA. What's Karma Got To Do With It? This summer clarified my understanding of the term, wake up call. I thought me and karma were cool. Guess not. In May, I was bitten by a poisonous brown recluse spider. While being treated for the bite at the hospital, I contracted a staph infection, the severity of which nearly killed me. It was close, but I beat the odds and survived. Let me tell ya, staph infections, ain't for sissies. What I've learned from my near death experience:
The most critical thing I learned, without a doubt...
People do care. Despite the circumstances, I'm thankful for the confirmation. In addition to physical transfigurations, my mind went through a metamorphosis of sorts. Perhaps you could say I've come to find that sense of balance I've been searching for all these years--completely by happenstance. There was no actual discipline put forth by me to obtain this resolution...just life. So here I am, feeling pretty chill, looking around at all the fortunate things in my life when the universe throws another curve ball at me. In the past year, I haven't given relationships much thought. There's been too much healing going on to deal with that crap all over again. Then outta the blue I met someone. And he's great. Wouldn't it be nice if it were that simple? Oh God why can't you throw me some simple! One time! Even the Red Sox got lucky once! So here's the rub...we've got a bit of age difference. In this case the measurement of "a bit" is approximately 18 years. I know what you're thinking, "What's the big deal! I have a friend who married a guy more than 20 years older than her." Yes, so do I. Unfortunately this is the other direction. Yes, oh yes, move over Demi...SM's in the HOUSE! He's 21 years old and I will be 40 in January. Take that Hollywood! The initial response from friends is generally something like, "You rock star!" That changes when I tell them I'm serious. The look on their face turns to shock and worry. It's the same look my parents gave me when when I told them my dance career wasn't just a hobby. What is wrong with the universe?!? Seriously, why do I keep being hit with incredulous circumstances? Oh please! Don't you think I know? I know! I know all about the realities of the situation, don't need to hear them again. All I know is that for the first time in literally years, I've found someone who I connect with in every way. And I'm happy. So what's so funny about that? He, the young man, is far more mature than I am. Unlike me, he thinks logically and he cares about doing the right thing. Myself, I just jump in head first without determining whether or not the pool's been filled. Luckily, my head is like a brick. But eventually, even walls fall down. So I'm thinking about what to do, and I decide I'm gonna write about it. The pitch: Older woman falls in love with younger man after being bitten by poisonous spider. I'll call it THE GRADUATE, WHO GOT BIT BY A SPIDER. Just kiddin. I think the title will be, RIGHT SOULS, WRONG BODIES. Seriously, it's screaming out to be written about. My real life is far more insane than anything I could possibly fictionalize. Here's some of the speech the protagonist gives after the young man voices his concerns about the relationship: What do I think? I think it’s not my fault you were born the same year I graduated high school. I think it’s not my fault I want to hang out with you more than anyone else. I think it’s not my fault I’m on the same wavelength as someone almost 20 years younger than me. You said it yourself; You were too young to have a double hernia at three. You were too young to get Crone’s disease at 10. You were too young to have a near fatal car accident and lose your finger at 17. But sometimes life just happens. Don't you think I think about this too? I have way more to lose than you do. Of course I think about it. I'm not immune to societies judgment and I'm not completely void of logic. But I can't help how I feel. Christopher Walken said in WEDDING CRASHERS. “We don’t know what life is gonna bring us. All we can do is take the information at hand and make the best decision possible based on that information.” Okay, here’s the information I have. You and I have everything in common. You and I laugh, we talk, about EVERYTHING. We have intense chemistry and energy between us. Great sex. We’re each other’s best friends. We have more fun together than we do with anyone else. We can talk to each other about anything and everything. We love all the same movies, like all the same music. Okay, information on guys, my age…They drink too much. They compliment too little. They’re disgruntled life contenders swimming in a sea of their own missed opportunities. If they’re divorced they most likely have kids. If they’ve never been married they have issues. I have to prove how cool I am every time we go out so they feel justified in spending their time with me. They make me feel like crap about myself. They are self-righteous, intense, boring, uninspiring…Oh, wait, I’m sorry, none of that really matters because the most important piece of information at hand is, they ARE age appropriate. So what do I think? I think life is short. And you and I both know TOO well that you never know when something is gonna come and take it away. So we might as well hang with happiness when happiness decides to show up to the party! That’s what I think. Karma, Out.
Who’s this Karma Bitch, and Why Does She Hate Me
So Much? I admit it, I am a cynical person, but cynical in a funny way, not in a “the world is against me” way. I take my licks at least as well as the next guy, if not better—but a girl can only take so much! It’s a good thing to help out a friend right? Get her a job making more money than she’s ever made before? Working in a laid back office where no one monitors her excessive internet usage? She can wear jeans and t-shirts and God-awful white trash Old Navy flip flops to work everyday? That’s nice, right? So why the f*ck is Karma hitting me over the head with a brick now, by giving me the moodiest, bitchiest (if that’s even a word), most negative person I have ever worked with? Is this payback for my own bitchiness in the past...few sentences? I mean, yes, I am not perfect. I have certainly had a bad day or two. But really Karma, is it necessary to make me work with someone who has PMS 25 out of 30 days a month? So, if all this bad energy amounted to one bitchy co-worker I could shrug it off as a bad choice on my part to have recommended her for the job. But no. Let’s move on... Boys—Yes, my favorite topic these days. Have I not had enough heartache for one lifetime? I mean, come on, my old ex-boyfriend with his drugs, lies and broken promises should be enough bad Karma dues for me to justify ten Knight in Shining Armors. I'm a great girlfriend! I'm very loving, thoughtful and Dammit, I love sex!!! What boy wouldn't want me? ;) So why is it that I meet the most emotionally unavailable men ever? Okay, this could be spun as, why do I choose the most emotionally unavailable men. Still, if its not the mommy’s boy (of which there are many) who still lives at home then it’s the seemingly “perfect” guy who has it all yet doesn’t want a relationship. He’s not a jerk (although lately that's debatable). He doesn’t kick puppies or trip the waiter but he’s just not "available". Why is it that those are the ones I want the most? It’s Karma’s most cruel joke. What have done to deserve this Karma? Is it just bad timing or is Karma laughing her ass off right now at my angst? So how do you beat Karma, or at the very least catch her and tie her up? Deal or no deal bitch! Isn't Karma only allowed to give back what you've dished out? While I haven’t been a perfect angel, I have made amends for all my past wrongs. Shouldn't that count for something? Granted, it could be a lot worse than bitchy co-workers and emotionally unavailable guys. That said, Karma ain't exactly giving me a fair deal either. Who knows. Ask me how I feel tomorrow. For now, I'm on a hunting expedition. If I find her before she finds me, there will be hell to pay.
And Then I Got Bit By A Spider Working on this book has been empowering in every aspect of my life. I started running, getting back into shape. More crucially, I started feeling as though I was getting my emotional power back. Life has not thrown me a lot of breaks--not that I'm complaining. If I've learned anything about myself it's that I am one tough broad. There's an old Irish saying, something like, "Vanity hits you right before a fall". Well, it was in this mood that I traveled back to my hometown outside of Boston in search of my past. The trip was going great. It was like pressing the rewind on my life, visiting old friends from the way distant past, and liking it, searching through old diaries and letters, and generally feeling optimistic, (conceivably smug), about the new direction of my life. And then I got bit by a spider.
I am strong! Dammit. I can take a hard sucker punch to the gut, maybe even pass out, but eventually I always get back on my feet. And I dig that about me! This is new. I've never philosophically spun my bad luck this way. It just keeps coming at me, I take it, get pissed and go around in circles like the hamster in a cage. Well baby, this spider can whip that hamster's ass! Maybe that's the key. Maybe I do need to look at things from a new perspective. It's not that I am cursed, it's that I am a super hero. Yeah, I like that. Haven't figured out the lesson in this particular incident: Don't go snooping
into your past. Or maybe; Stay out of your mom's basement. Perhaps I'm
supposed to stay out of Massachusetts. Bottom line, my days of
swooping spiders up with a glass and a magazine, placing them safely outside the
door are gone. Sorry Spidey. May 3, 2006 Traditionally, exercise, in whatever form, has been the plug to my
self-esteem outlet. When I
was younger, dancing took me a way to a place of complete solitude and balance.
Today I've discovered a new tool, running. I don't go very far.
Mostly I run the treadmill in the gym. But lately I've had this bright
idea that I would run across America in support of Eating Disorders. Hell
someone's gotta do something dramatic to grab people's attention. So one
day, I decided to run. And I ran. And ran. And kept on running.
Unfortunately, I only got as far as the 7 Eleven on the corner. But it got
me thinking. Forest Gump was on to something! There's nothing more
empowering than the feeling of conquering physical challenges. Especially
if you have a history of physical obstacles or impairments. I've had so
many orthopaedic surgeries I've lost count. I think I go to eleven.
The running, even in its scaled down capacity (in comparison to great runners,
like Forest Gump), makes me feel strong and whole. When I am running, I
feel as though I can accomplish anything, defeat anything and be anyone.
Of course, the Ipod is a key component. I'm Just a Girl The truth about dating is….it sucks! Bitter, party of one? Your table is ready! Nah, I'm just kidding. But there are many frustrations accompanying all the thrills. Example: You know that beginning period when you meet a new guy and everyone tells you, "Oh this is the exciting time! Everything's new, and mysterious". Screw mystery! I just want someone I can trust. You know, someone who doesn't play games, makes it known that he digs me, or makes it known that he doesn't. Either way, I'm way too old for mystery. Recent dating escapades have prompted examination of that age old question: Do all women want the fairy tale? The fairy tale being; Handsome prince rides up on white horse, rescues us from a life of servitude, loneliness or whatever...everyone lives happily ever after. From the minute we're yanked outta the birth canal, women are conditioned by the notion that our identity rests on finding the [ideal man]. There's an oxymoron. If we're lucky, we don't only get that message. Some of us are fortunate enough to be raised by strong women infusing the idea that it's better to define ourselves through our own achievements. Regardless, it's almost impossible for most women to escape the subliminal messaging we receive, "So, when'ya gonna get married? The clock is ticking! Eggs don't stay fertile forever!". These messages are cleverly dispersed throughout our childhood and adulthood by family, peers and society at large. I don't care how together you are, every woman succumbs to the scare tactics sooner or later. So is it true that, in the end, all we really want is for some guy to rescue us?
Let's define rescue. Webster's has it as: To set free, as from
danger or imprisonment; save. So, does that mean if we are
alone we are in danger? Well, I did set my kitchen on fire
that one time when I burnt the toast. See there. Might need
some rescuing after all.
I don’t sit at home waiting for the phone to ring, (isn't that why
they invented cell phones?) Seriously, I'm a busy girl.
Nevertheless, I obsess. The amount of emails and phone calls
back and forth between me and my closest girlfriends dissecting the
details of the interactions between me and the newest guy are
ludicrous. What is it that reduces a strong, intelligent woman
to a little girl? It's like there's an internal battle waging
between two forces; Cindy Brady vs. Helen Reddy. Helen can shout out
about how's she's woman hear her roar all she likes but Cindy's
still beating the crap out of her. And I think Marsha and Jan just
jumped in there.
Helen Reddy has just been...hit by lightening, thrown off a cliff, impaled, then eaten by a mountain lion, a bear, Jan and Marsha Brady. Ironically, the jokes on us. Guys don't analyze these things at all. Can you image two guys sitting around questioning what it meant when a girl brushed her hair out of her face? That would be a big NO. The main question we girls ask each other, “What does that mean?” And if we don’t like the first person’s answer, we simply pool all our friends until we find the answer we like. Then we obsess and compare one person's response to another person’s idea. Fifty emails later....we still haven't got a clue. Maybe we are all on an everlasting quest for the love of our lives. Maybe it's our need to control the situation. We need to make sure everything happens according to the picture we have in our heads. You know, the fairy tale! Can't escape. I'm not gonna lie. I am a hopeless romantic. Brad Pitt looks great on a white horse. The problem of course is that it's never like the fairy tale. We put way too much stock into that image of Happily Ever After. Didn't we read the sequel? Cinderella and the Prince spend three days in the Bahamas, blow all their money playing craps, Cinderella whips her glass slipper at the Prince's head, hikes up her ball gown and jumps ship with Johnny Depp and the Pirates of the Caribbean. Truth is, no one and no situation is perfect. Sure the idea of having a
guy sweep you off your feet and ride you off into the sunset is great. But
I don't feel that I need someone to rescue me. I just want someone I can
laugh with and
share my life--ups, downs, ins and outs. No amount of obsessing or
controlling does anything to change what is meant to be. It will either work or
you'll have one sloppy burrito. Maybe it's time to do things differently.
*"Just a Girl" by No Doubt, Lyrics by Gwen Stefani The Importance of
Being Mentored If Oscar Wilde were to comment on the importance of mentors he might say something like this: If you persist in running about life relying solely on your own wit and wisdom you'll find life to be entirely and intolerably dull. And I would agree with him. The value of a mentor is not to be determined tangibly. However the absence of one is clearly visible. Webster's definition of a mentor is a wise and trusted teacher. I would define a mentor as someone who nurtures talent by sharing their own. For as we know, all living creatures need to be nurtured in order to thrive. My life has been defined through lack of mentorship. That is not to say I've failed miserably or that I haven't had people acknowledge my talents. I have. But I've never had someone take me under their wing and help guide my path to success. ENTER DILEMMA Mentors aren't easy to come by, especially for women. Many of the women I've worked for have been more inclined to see me as a potential threat than a mentee. Perhaps it’s because women do not have the history of mentoring in the workplace that men do and for that matter the networks of power where the tradition of mentoring is cultivated. I’ve found that you have to be clever or lucky to find a mentor. I'm neither. People without mentors often turn toward their family for direction. This didn't work for me. When I graduated high school I embarked on a professional dance career. In college I studied Broadcasting and Film. My parents are scholars and although they have a keen appreciation for the arts, they have no experience launching a career in the arts industry. They did teach me the value of having a mentor by their exceptional examples—both as mentors themselves and having benefited from having mentors. Being armed with appreciation and desire got me nowhere. The dance world offered very little sustenance. Instead of sound guidance I had other dancers teaching me the fine art of having an eating disorder and dance teachers shouting insults and expletives. Upon leaving the dance world for college, I was presented with more openings for connecting with potential mentors. Those doors closed after graduation. Going further back to adolescence: Like many people’s, it was shrouded in turmoil. This was a time where I desperately needed leadership but wouldn’t know a mentor if one fell in my lap. And that’s exactly what happened. ENTER MENTOR FALLING IN LAP Opportunity came to my hometown of Belmont, Massachusetts in the form of a film crew. THE GREAT AMERICAN FOURTH OF JULY AND OTHER DISASTERS, penned by writer and radio personality, Jean Shepherd (A CHRISTMAS STORY), was filming in one of Belmont’s well-preserved town squares. Set in the 50s, residents were encouraged to dress the part and fill the abundant need for extras. I was only fourteen and desperate to meet the star of the film, Matt Dillon. While attempting to accidentally fall on top of the teen idol during a scene, I bumped into “Shep” (Shepherd). Recap: Silly teenager wakes up hoping to get hunky movie star’s autograph on poodle skirt, winds up spending afternoon with middle-aged writer. Darn my luck! I jest. It turned out to be one of the defining moments of my life. Shep and his musings inspired me so significantly I resolved that day to become a writer. Thus begun my crusade in search of Shepherd material; reading everything he'd written and listening to all his old radio broadcasts. His work fed my passion for perfecting the art of the written word. Although I developed an intense relationship with the inner genius of Jean Shepherd, I never saw him again after the day we met. Several occasions arose over the years for me to contact him but my lack of confidence kept me away. In retrospect my fear was senseless. He was so encouraging when I met him. I'm sure he would have welcomed my call. Several years ago I got up the nerve to contact him. It was too late. Just a few days prior he had died. A wise woman recently told me, "Go with your gut". This seems effortless but I've never been able to do it. I'm always dismissing and questioning my instincts. This trait, I believe, is the result of my long battle with Bulimia. Questioning ones gut feelings gets to the very heart of that disease. Although I ultimately won the war, in my most vulnerable days a good mentor would have changed everything for me. Mentors echo what you may already innately believe you can do but somehow question. When you have an eating disorder, your mind/body connection is disrupted rendering you completely out of touch with your instincts. Thus you question everything you feel. This may be the reason I gave up fostering my relationship with Jean Shepherd. To this day I harbor regret over that choice. This has been the conundrum of my life: Too scared to accept help when it’s there, unable to find it when it’s sought. ENTER HABITUAL KNACK FOR FALLING INTO THINGS ACCIDENTALLY VS. BY CHOICE I came to Los Angeles in 1994 to pursue a career in writing for film and television. I started to make it happen slowly and sporadically, mixing writing with other steadier (as my mother would say) pursuits. The mom-friendly pursuits, and a husband in the computer business, brought me to the high tech/video industry. This foreign land with its incomprehensible language once intimidated me beyond reason. But I faced my fears, learned the language and discovered I did, in fact, have a left brain. Working for my (now) ex-husband's company, DV411, (http://dv411.com) has afforded me enormous amounts of flexibility. Not only do I love what I do, the entrepreneurial structure of my job enables me to pursue other professional interests. I've managed to develop and grow my charitable organization, Payson Road (http://www.paysonroad.com), which spreads awareness and provides creative healing resources for eating disorders. I also continue to write. Recently I was offered a huge opportunity to work for a leading manufacturer of video applications. It's an offer most people would jump at but I tormented over the decision, mostly because I'm not a corporate kinda girl. I found myself in the high tech world accidentally. It's been good to me but it works only because I've been able to define my own place in it. Taking this job would change that. Notwithstanding, it was too good an offer to discount without careful consideration. ENTER UTTER CONFUSION My family was somewhat helpful but they're motivated by different principles than a mentor would be--my security. This job would bring that in abundance. But is any job really secure these days? Exit devil's advocate. My friends are somewhat more objective but ultimately provide little confirmation. When I found myself completely unable to reach a decision the first person I thought of consulting was Jean Firstenberg, Director and CEO of the American Film Institute (AFI). Prior to joining DV411 I worked for AFI. Jean is also a fellow Boston University (BU) alum. Jean and I have been in touch with more regularity lately because I took on the position of Chair of the BU Alumni club of L.A. I've long admired and respected Jean. She is a pioneer for women in entertainment--not simply because of her immeasurable achievements. Her passion and commitment to the concept that the art of storytelling is a culturally necessary investment claims my esteem. I mentioned the opportunity to Jean via email and she graciously offered to be a sounding board. Now, if the above mentioned title does not suggest...she's a busy lady. Still, Jean took the time to speak with me. Those 10 minutes on the phone with her hashing out the pros and cons made all the difference in the world. She gave me the reassurance I needed to finally listen to my gut. Thank you Jean. ENTER LONG LOST RESOLVE I turned down the job. It was my gut feeling. My family plans on resuming conversations with me sometime in 2010. Nah, just kiddin. They’ve been very supportive and understanding. What I realized in this whole process is that I've never before had anyone do what Jean did for me. She truly is a mentor. I do have people in my life I can call on for advice. But there's something particularly distinctive about having a woman I admire professionally give me that much-needed encouragement and guidance. More crucially, she’s a baseball fan. By example and support, mentors can enhance your self-esteem and help open your mind to possibilities. A little bit of confidence boosting goes a long way in a hard journey. This is not to say that I would never have had an eating disorder or have recovered sooner if I'd had a mentor earlier in my life. There are too many complex elements to draw that conclusion. However, I do think the mentor/mentee relationship can be so powerful that it can literally make the difference between good and great, success and failure, and in my case, action and reaction. ENTER DREAMS OF GRANDEUR My checklist of things I want to complete in life is long and ambitious. Here are a few examples; swim with Great White Sharks, win every writing award possible, Pulitzer, Oscar, etc., marry George Clooney…no, scratch that, marry Tom Brady, scratch that, swap marriage proposal for trip to South America--have hot affair with Brazilian footballer, buy house big enough for many animals, watch Red Sox win World Series…several times. You know, simple stuff. In the end, and in all sincerity, the most pressing item on the list is my desire to be a mentor. I can't take Jean Firstenberg or Jean Shepherd back in time with me to when I was 22 or 14, but I can try, (particularly through Payson Road), to give some comfort to those struggling for direction as I was. ENTER PEACE FADE OUT January 1, 2006 Hi my name is Sarah and I'm not an alcoholic. But I'd like to join your club. Last night I went to my first Alcoholics Anonymous (AA) meeting. I had been invited to attend by my boyfriend's step-uncle. My boyfriend is an alcoholic. The idea was to get both of us to the meeting with the hopes it would trigger some kind of action on his part. It didn't. I went to the meeting. He went to the bar. Having spent the last two and a half years living with an alcoholic, it was not unexpected. I went for myself--that's all I can do. I've been going to Al-Anon meetings sporadically but have never gone to an AA meeting. But this time, something was calling me. My boyfriend's step-uncle, mother and step-father have all been in the program for many years and are collectively celebrating over 50 years of sobriety. I've listened to them talk about the program and seen how it engages their lives. But I never really understood its draw until I saw for myself the affect the community has on its members. My boyfriend's step-uncle and his wife and two of the men he sponsors were planning on going to dinner prior to the meeting. Two of them were celebrating AA birthdays, 19 and 24 years--quite an accomplishment. I guess I was a little nervous about having dinner with everyone. It's not that I had a specific stereotypes of alcoholics, I just felt like an outsider. That feeling vanished the minute I walked into the restaurant as I was instantly charmed by their warmth. The Temple, in which the meeting was held, was filled to capacity. Walking inside, we were immediately met with friendly faces. The boys seemed to know everyone. They graciously walked me around and introduced me to people. Any fear I might have had in attending was washed away by the overwhelming feeling of acceptance from the community members. I found myself excited for the meeting to start. The meeting commenced with announcements then two 10 minute speakers and one main speaker. I was drawn in immediately--not by displays of incredible eloquence but by their honesty and commitment to sobriety. The main speaker was electrifying. His truth was somewhat disturbing but his delivery and intensity captivated me. I didn't expect to be so moved. I have to admit I'm a cynic. I have never been a fan of 12 step programs. Especially in regard to my own battle with Bulimia--which I've waged for over 20 years. I experimented with Overeaters Anonymous (OA), Co-Dependents Anonymous, Work-a-holics Anonymous and most recently Al-Anon. The higher power component always made me uncomfortable. Maybe I wasn't ready for it because it didn't bother me at all during the AA meeting. There's something different about AA in comparison to other 12 step program meetings I've attended. With the exception of Al-Anon, the other groups did not feel as rooted or sincere as AA. There was an aura of that "culture of dependency" looming as if the participants were there simply because it was socially dictated. That's not at all how it felt at AA. It was professional, yet entertaining, touching but unsettling, compassionate not sympathetic. It had honesty with wit, integrity without apology and ownership with commitment. Listening to the speakers’ stories and looking around the room at the camaraderie that seemed to replace alcohol as a new form of intoxication, I found myself yearning to be a part of this community. I felt jealous of the things this group had that eating disorder support groups do not--most notably, validation. There were several similarities to my own struggles. All of the speakers referred to their initial days in the program feeling skeptical. The catch phrase "I'm not one of you" was popular. That's exactly how most Bulimics feel when first entering a support group. "I'm not like you. I just do this to balance my diet." What AA has that Bulimic support groups do not is a promise, or maybe I should say, a hope of recovery. We can't offer that hope so tangibly. We can't say that one day you'll lead a sober life. We have to eat to live so any way you slice it, (pardon the awful pun), you will always have a relationship with food. What Bulimics also don't have is social legitimacy. I'm not saying alcoholics haven't taken their share of public abuse and ridicule. They have. But thanks, pretty much entirely to AA, there's an acceptance, or maybe forgiveness of alcoholics who are sober that people with eating disorders have never been granted. I like to say, alcoholics have a better Publicist. Hollywood doesn't poke fun at people with drug or alcohol dependencies--Maybe in the past but certainly not at present. It's considered bad taste. It's okay to show drama through the telling of people's story and all the pain that comes with, but you better not make jokes at their expense. However, it is perfectly okay to use Bulimia as a punch line. I recently saw an episode of Desperate Housewives in which one of the characters jokingly pretends to, as they put it "go into a bulimic fit". I can list hundreds of movies, television shows, advertisements, etc., that freely mock eating disorders. Food addictions are the last acceptable prejudice. It's okay to make fun of obese people, okay to make fun of bulimics. This results in a lot of shame and silence. In the last few years the internet has provided an underground forum for support. But when we say anonymous, we don't mean, "Hi I'm Sarah M", we mean, hi I'm edgirl4056789. You don't have to identify yourself at all online which is helpful in allowing people to reach out for support but ultimately adds to the shame in being unable to tell anyone your secret. Real support for eating disorders, in every way, is simply lacking. So there I was, sitting at this AA meeting wishing I could walk up to the podium and say, "Hi my name is Sarah and I'm an alcoholic!" It would mean I was part of something bigger than myself that was acknowledged and valid. I would not be alone. Yes, millions of men and women have eating disorders but there's only a small group of us willing to walk up to a podium and declare, "Hi, I'm Sarah and I'm Bulimic." I wish I had the support this group offers. But I'm grateful that's it out there and comforted by the knowledge that there are people on this planet who have such a deep commitment to life, and each other. For me, this experience opened my eyes to new hope. I don't know if Adam will ever go to a meeting. I pray that he will. That's all I can do. And know that if and when he does, he will find his way out of the darkness. When I got home, and checked into my eating disorder support group online, I thought about what I could say to these folks that would inspire them in the same way I had been inspired by the speakers at the AA meeting. Here's what I came up with; "It's never to late to be what you might have been." - George Elliot I carry that quote around in my purse. I've been hesitant to let the meaning fully sink in. But sitting at that AA meeting, I felt its power. I felt its possibilities. Hi. My name is Sarah and I'm an Optimist.
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