Inside Out

“It’s what’s on the inside that counts.” Bull. Shit.

I’m not saying that the inside doesn’t count, but I’m here to tell you that the outside counts, too. And just as much, if not more so.

A confession: one of my favorite stories about myself is one I heard just before I was married. Some of my mother’s closest friends held a dinner party for me and my bridesmaids–I think there might have been eight of us there total. Anyway, our long-time neighbor related a story about having run into my ballet teacher at an event years prior, around the time I graduated high school, and reported that she said to her, of me, “I remember the day her mother first brought her to my dance school-I remember thinking to myself that she was absolutely the single most beautiful child I had ever seen–all eyes and that long black hair--she took my breath away.”

I guess it’s pretty shallow of me to hold onto that–I mean, we’re not talking about anything except outward appearances, and she probably said equally flattering things about many of her students over the years. Plus, it’s no great achievement to be cute when you’re only seven years old. But it DOES mean a lot to me, because as one of those girls who grew up to become the victim of overzealous puberty, genetics, and my own apathy that conspired to keep me short & fat for the remainder of my life (I learned the truth at seventeen/that love was meant for beauty queens....Janis Ian? Anyone??), it’s the one and only moment I know of in my entire life, with any certainty, that someone looked at me and saw pure BEAUTY. That I took someone’s breath away...that I inspired some kind of aesthetic awe.

There are beautiful people who go through life doing nothing but that, and I imagine that their complaint is that people ONLY see the outside, and don’t fully appreciate what’s going on inside. And in a way, I guess that can be just as painful a burden. But since I have no point of reference for that particular disadvantage...

The truth is that it ALL matters–the inside AND the outside. For what am I but what I am, in my entirety? My thoughts might ramble around in my mind, and those I commit to paper or voice might continue to tumble out into the ether, and might, in and of themselves, be meaningful or inspirational or even beautiful to others. But once those words leave the confines of my own body, they aren’t ME. They are shadows left behind. They can’t enjoy the feelings they engender–they never see the nods of agreement or hear the sighs of kindred spirits, nor do I. You might get a comment or two on a blog, and that’s something, for sure. But, again, that’s a disembodied kind of connection. I am CONNECTED to MYSELF. Everything I experience, my thoughts, my joys, my pains–they are all manifestations of this living, physical organism. If there is an afterlife, and I suddenly find myself on some astral plain as nothing but a collection of thoughts and feelings, then I’ll believe that the inside counts for more. But until then, I am trapped and at the mercy of what I, as a physical being, am able to experience, and those experiences are dictated and limited by what I look like.

I don’t feel the need to be gorgeous or perfect–I’d just really like to be “average.” You might think it’s a pretty sad state of affairs when your biggest dream is to be physically “average,” but “average” people, in my opinion, have the advantage of being able to participate in the widest range of experiences--social, physical, intellectual, spiritual, etc. When you’re super-beautiful, people can often objectify you and make assumptions about your intelligence, or, even if your intelligence is readily appreciated, it’s generally always secondary to your beauty. They also tend to assume that if you’re beautiful on the outside, that you’re also beautiful on the inside. However, when you’re NOT attractive on the outside, you don’t necessarily get any thoughts directed your way beyond that. People don’t look at an ugly person and assume they’re intelligent and/or beautiful on the inside–quite the opposite, usually. So there really IS more of a disadvantage to NOT being beautiful.

Which brings me back to the average Joe. Average Joe has far more freedom to create himself and his experiences. He’s a blank page on which we are free to project our basic assumptions of human potential and goodness. He’s the proverbial pot of porridge that’s “just right.” He and the average Jane are simply accepted as they are--they don't intimidate or repulse others. They’re not unduly pitied or reviled for being ugly, nor undeservedly envied or revered for being beautiful. People look at their average faces and bodies and assume “here’s a couple of fine, upstanding people, much like myself–they’re probably good folks.”

I prefer average looking people, myself. That’s who I actually tend to really note “beauty” in, both physically and spiritually. You might be 15 pounds overweight with thinning hair, but your eyes make my heart melt. You might have crooked teeth and bad skin, but your hands are lovely and expressive. I look at you and say to myself, “see, they’re not perfect, either, but they have perfectly beautiful physical things about them that draw me to them,” and that’s enough. I NOTICE these little things--all the time.

I have been fortunate in my life that most of the people I’ve encountered on a personal level also happen to be fairly intelligent, insightful, and talented. So the assumptions I make about my “average” compatriots’ intelligence or spiritual beauty tend to be a positive foregone conclusion. Of course the deeper you dive into another person’s psyche the more beautiful they become–their words and thoughts DO inform your vision of them in the physical realm. But your connection to them is still completely interdependent–it’s the physical/spiritual/intellectual combo plate–it can’t be ordered a la carte.

Do other people ever really look past my overall physicality and start to see any of those little pieces of perfection? Or do they just enjoy my company and admire my talents enough to the point that they don’t even really “see” me at all? Fortunately (or unfortunately–I can’t quite decide which), I think the answer is “yes” to the latter. Case in point: a few weeks ago, I organized and emceed a cabaret evening as a fund raiser for a local charity, which featured musical performances of show tunes by several women theatre leaders in our community, myself included. I was so overheated from running around getting everything together, that by the time the show was underway and I was up there under the lights introducing and later on performing, my face was wringing wet. I used a napkin to blot away the sweat (trying to preserve what little good my makeup was doing me), and by the time I got ready for bed that night, after having come home and sat at my own kitchen table with my husband and four of my closest friends for another couple of hours, I looked in the bedroom mirror as I took off my jewelry and realized that I had two small pieces of napkin still stuck to my face–right there on my cheek and on my forehead. And NO ONE saw them. Or if they did, they didn’t bother to tell me I had schmutz on my face. And the last time I had “dabbed” my face that evening was in the middle of the program. Which means not only did those sitting right across from me at my own kitchen table not register the crap on my face, but neither did anyone I was performing with, which is bizarre...So is it that (A) no one cares enough to tell me or (B) no one really SEES me?

I know people love me. I know that in spite of my imperfections that they do, in fact, see the beauty in what lies within. But I think they’ve learned to divorce my inside from my outside, and I find that really sad, in a way. Mainly because that’s what I’ve been doing for YEARS. I had a friend tell me one time (and she intended it as a compliment) that she was really amazed by me–that she thought it was great that I didn’t let my weight limit me socially–that I seemed to always be willing to go out and do the things I wanted to do. Which, when turned around in my stinking-thinking mind sounded like, “Gee, it’s great that you don’t let the fact that you’re fat get in the way of your having a good time.” Which was actually kind of true, because I have kind of always pretended that I’m not. I always thought I “carried it well.” I think I might have what they refer to in anorexics as body dysmorphic disorder (BDD). In the anorexic’s case, it usually manifests itself as their inability to look in the mirror and see their skeletal visage as anything but fat. I think BDD works the other way around in my case–I see myself as being about half the size I actually am. It also affects the way I see just my face–I look in a mirror, and I think, "at least I have a beautiful face," but then I look at photographs and they tell a completely different story! Mirrors do, in fact, lie. They lie like rugs.

So, what’s the point of this particular afternoon’s musings on inner vs. outer beauty? How did I even get here today? And is this line of thinking going to take me anywhere new? Will it lead me to a new understanding and acceptance of myself, or will it spur me on to more strongly endeavor to change myself? Or will my oldest and dearest, apathy, keep me right where I am? Who knows....who knows.

Beneath the Paint and Armor

Today's musical inspiration comes as a result of listening to my Ben Folds collection, top to bottom. It's been a long time since I spent time with this music, which has meant so much to me over the years. And it's funny how each song carries with it a specific thought pattern--rarely do we let the storyteller simply tell his stories without superimposing our own experiences upon them--you tend to either turn the lyrics outward onto those you know, or inward upon yourself, and you make the stories your own.

But once in awhile, your own stories or perspective can change. A song that has always held one meaning suddenly holds another. That was true today with "Jane." I've always applied this one outward on an old friend of mine who at one time seemed to be struggling with being at peace with who he is. But today, it was for me.

Jane, be Jane--
You’re better that way
Not when you’re trying
Imitating something you think you saw

So Jane, be Jane--
And though sometimes that might
Drive them away
Let them stay there–you don’t need them anyway

You’re worried there might not be anything at all inside
But that you’re worried should tell you that’s not right
Don’t try to see yourself the way that others do - it’s no use
You’ve had it harder than anyone could know - so hard to let it go.

But it’s your life
And you can decorate it as you like
Beneath the paint and armor,
In your eyes, the truth still shines

Jane, be Jane.

Here’s hoping that even though I don’t often feel like it’s even there, that, indeed, “beneath the paint and armor...the truth still shines.”

Photographic Evidence

Camera never was my friend, at least not since 4th grade
Recently got rid of a lot of extra baggage,
So I tried making friends again with the lens
Big mistake...he’s pissed, apparently...because I SWEAR TO GOD that the photographic evidence has been doctored

It’s not just the lines and wrinkles...
It’s the hideous mask hanging over who I thought I was
I even adjusted the lighting...you know, all those great tricks to get the camera to see what you want it so see
But not this guy...he’s treating me to the full frontal reality:
I am old.

At Arm's Length

Afraid of my own foolishness
Never wanting to be a fool
No–wanting to be a fool,
But never wanting to be judged a fool

Quiet in the corner
Lest my open mouth expose my ignorance
Let them assume still waters run deep
When in fact they are dangerously, dangerously shallow–
"No Diving Allowed" should be legally required

Always an imitation of myself
Tough girl, together girl,
Good girl...with the curl in the middle of her forehead
Who can be so horrid, horrid, horrid

Every one is at arm’s length
Every feeling, stretched even farther away
Let sleeping dogs lie, and let my lies remain dormant
Say nothing...say nothing...admit to nothing

Middle-age crazy, worse than teenage angst
At least then, despair was irrelevant in the face of the extra time on the clock
No time like the present...it’s all that’s left
A gift horse with her mouth sewn shut

Muddied mind, mixed metaphors, meaningless except to me
What’s the point? I mean seriously, what’s the point?
Stay out of here...the mind’s a steel trap
Baited with honey and unfulfilled wishes.

Once

John and I watched the new indie film ONCE a few months back. The music was sublime and haunting, and rightfully received an Oscar for Best Song for "Falling Slowly," which, in my opinion, wasn't even the best song in the film.

Singers and songwriters Glen Hansard (of The Frames) and Marketa Irglova spend the film playing fictionalized versions of themselves in what can best be described as something akin to a documentary about recording an album with a simple and bittersweet love story superimposed upon it.

Spoiler Alert: I'm about to reveal some plot points and the ending....read no further if you don't want to know!

An Irish street performer has a chance encounter with a young Czech immigrant, and they quickly discover they both love music. She (we never learn their names) takes him to a piano store where the owner lets her play during her lunch hours (since she can't afford a piano of her own), and he teaches her a song he's working on. They immediately connect and produce a lovely piece of music. After just a couple of days or so, now newly inspired, he decides to go ahead and record the demo record he's been putting off for years, getting her to write lyrics to one of his tunes, and hiring other musicians and obtaining studio time (for which she helps negotiate a 30% discount). In the interim, we find out he's been desperately pining after his old girlfriend, and she's been separated from her husband. There are some really nice romantic moments and some amazing musical moments, but they never connect physically. You can tell they're falling in love, but it's not necessarily with each other. The film ends with him heading off to London to shop his demo around to music labels and to rejoin his old love, with the girl welcoming her husband back into her home and life with their little girl. To repay her for her inspiration, the singer arranges to have a piano delivered to her home. Their entire story takes place in less than a week's time.

Although you're pulling all the while for them to end up together, there are clues along the way that it won't work out that way. She remarks several times that he must still be in love with whomever he's writing these passionate songs about, and when asked if she's still in love with her husband, she answers in Czech, and never translates.

What I adore about this love story is that it illustrates how there are so many different kinds of love stories that we all play out throughout our lives. What I mean is, every new person who comes into our lives in any meaningful way creates a new "love story." I've most often experienced it in terms of creative collaboration. Working on a play, you get to know new people and/or deepen existing relationships, which I find to be quite thrilling, and emotionally similar to that feeling of falling in love. I also fall in love with the art created. Unfortunately, I think that's why "backstage romances" are such a common (and dangerous) thing--it's not necessarily that we're really falling in love with some one, but rather we're responding to the excitement of new experiences and deepened understanding. It's very easy to get caught up in those feelings and mistake them for something they're not. It's also easy to see how people become junkies, in a fashion, for those feelings, pushing and forcing them into dangerous territories in order to keep the rush going. The trick, I guess, is to figure out how to balance revelry in the rush with a sense of perspective, and realize that's the best way to truly honor the experience for the vital nourishment to the soul that it imparts.

The two characters in ONCE ultimately understand this. They come to realize that it's possible to find and embrace a soul-mate that's not necessarily meant to be your romantic partner. They immerse themselves in their amazing collaboration and, in a very short but intense amount of time, make the absolute most of what it is destined to be. Their spirits co-mingle and they fall in love with the act of creation and its sublime consummation.

Not a bad way to spend a week.

Sunday School Trivia Question, Indeed

Okay, so I occasionally get these emails from friends or family that some one should have taken the time to check out on Snopes.com, usually making wild claims about "forward this to 100 people and Microsoft has to pay you $10,000," or "don't drink canned drinks or you'll die from inhaling rat poo." I will usually check it out on Snopes and reply to the person who sent it to me with a gently tactful request that they do the same before sending things out in the future. Then I also get (at least 5 times a week) those "Tag - You've Been Hugged! Now send this to at least ten people and back to the person who sent it to you and something wonderful will happen....blah blah blah blah...." Regardless of the message, I never respond to the chain emails, and rarely forward anything myself - just the occasional joke, or perhaps some kind of legitimate warning, (but only after I've verified it with Snopes.)

Recently, I've gotten a couple of messages that have really concerned me, though. Both had to do with claims that Barrack Obama is the antichrist and that, if elected, the world is going to come to an end. Here's the most recent email I received:

"Please read and think about our lives and what we don't think will ever change. It certainly could. This will make you re-think : A Trivia question in Sunday School :How long is the beast allowed to have authority in Revelations ?Guess the Answer?Revelations Chapter 13 tells us it is 42 months, and you know what that is.Almost a four-year term to a Presidency.All I can say is Lord Have Mercy on us.!!!!!! According to The Book of Revelations the anti-Christ is: The anti-Christ willbe a man, in his 40's, of MUSLIM descent, who will deceive the nations withpersuasive language, and have a MASSIVE Christ-like appeal....the prophecy saysthat people will flock to him and he will promise false hope and world peace,and when he is in power, will destroy everything ..Is it OBAMA??I STRONGLY URGE each one of you to post this as many times asyou can! Each opportunity that you have to send it to a friend or media outlet...do it!I refuse to take a chance on this unknown candidate who came out of nowhere."

Okay, first of all, bad grammar, typos, and misspellings aside, the name of the book is "Revelation" not "Revelations." More specifically, it's "Revelation of Christ to John." Secondly, it's obvious that most of this is based on an extremely broad set of criteria. I mean, 42 months is 6 months less than a presidential term, so what one has to do with the other is beyond me. Third, and what concerns me the most, is that I got this from an acquaintance who sent it out to about 250 people. Which leads me to believe that this person (a) actually believed what they read and (b) felt they needed to tell every one in their address book about it. I have no problem with friends and family members being more religious or conservative than I am, but I also assume that most of them would think for themselves, or at least hesitate before broadcasting half-truths and speculation, regardless of which candidate they support. Anyway, I just couldn't take it. So this time I decided I had to answer back, and this is the reply that I sent, cc'ing it to everyone on my acquaintance's forwarding list:


"Here's another Sunday School trivia question: How will man be able to predict or determine the timing of the second coming?

Matthew 24: 36 No one knows about that day or hour, not even the angels in heaven, nor the Son, but only the Father.

Even if some of us had the gift of prophecy or were able to simply make an educated guess that Obama might be the antichrist, who are we to stand in the way of God's will? If you believe the prophecies of Revelation to be true and are convinced those things will inevitably come to pass, then urging people not to vote for someone is futile. The only thing you can do is to be sure you, yourself, are right with God, and encourage others you care about to do the same.

2 Thessalonians 2:1 Concerning the coming of our Lord Jesus Christ and our being gathered to him, we ask you, brothers, not to become easily unsettled or alarmed by some prophecy, report or letter supposed to have come from us, saying that the day of the Lord has already come.

1 Corinthians 4:5 Therefore judge nothing before the appointed time; wait till the Lord comes. He will bring to light what is hidden in darkness and will expose the motives of men's hearts.

2 Timothy 4:1-2 In the presence of God and of Christ Jesus, who will judge the living and the dead, and in view of his appearing and his kingdom, I give you this charge: Preach the word; be prepared in season and out of season; correct, rebuke and encourage- with great patience and careful instruction.

I am certainly no religious expert, and, of course, had to google to find the scriptures quoted above. But it's my understanding based on my admittedly limited instruction in the Christian faith that if the events prophesied in the New Testament come to fruition, one would think that this "second" coming will be of a profound spiritual nature--the politics of individual nations, now or then, will be of little consequence.

I'm not saying that the upcoming election is of little consequence--it's very important to our lives here and now, and I hope you will vote as your conscience dictates. I'm just saying that I also hope people won't fall prey to the real sheep in wolves' clothing - political operatives who start these kinds of emails, using religion as a weapon to engender fear and to discourage critical thinking."

Where I Come From

Well, you can see I've fallen by the way-side on my paved super-highway to you-know-where, best intentions still weighing me down! And today, I'm not even posting my own words, but those of my husband, in honor of his birthday. He wrote this four years ago in response to an assignment at a summer workshop, and I think it's one of the most beautiful things I've ever read.

WHERE I COME FROM by John Howell

I am from a home that resonated with the arts like a deep chamber
full of harmonic voices and sounds,
Where magic was built into life from the beginning,
Where Christmas mornings shimmered with unexpected treasures.
The creative spark was nurtured in every soul as my parents listened to my hippie siblings playing their music with more than mere tolerance.

As I grew, I could explore a wide outdoor world on hot summer days,
a dog, my only companion. Imaginary worlds opened up
before my bare feet, and stories took shape in my inner life.

My home was an island in a calm, stagnant sea of lazy Southern complacency,
Where shallow pleasantness was meant to hide the crimes of the past,
Where nothing was to be learned that was not practical.
(And yet everything I learned was not practical.)

I have been back to treasure nostalgia, finding little to recognize, apart from home.
And even at home, the shadows are clearer that once were only small patches of coldness.
Our scars are revealed, but the flaws make us richer.

I have been to classes to learn about acting, and found the acting partner for the play of my life.
And I have sunk into her life and found another deep ocean where new families swim,
and new sparks light the skies around us.

I am going to a place, if there is one, where I can finally put thoughts and experiences
into weak words, without fear of their inadequacy.
I am going to a stage where the dramas performed are the stories of myself and my loved ones.
We have entertained each other for so long.

And to the children around me, I will pass on my favorite gift:
the delight of creation,
the thrill of connection,
the wonder of the music I have heard throughout my life.