I Get By With A Little Help. (Most of the time)

I am convinced that the people in our lives today are here for a reason. And I don’t mean that, like, in the form of a Hallmark greeting card message—although it sounds suspiciously reminiscent of something you’d send in a “thinking of you card.” I mean that in a way which incorporates the age old adage “everything happens for a reason” as well as the mindset which remains conscious of coincidence. And the Sci-Fi channel. I’m not a hippie. I don’t go out of my way to eat organic foods. I’m not an expert on religion, and I don’t even lay claim to one religion as my doctrine. (I’d like to think I am student of all spiritual sagacity.) So, really, my experience in life thus far may reveal that my regards to fate as a genuine concept are, in fact, fatal. (Clever joke, huh? huh?) But I’ll pretend like I know what I’m talking about instead.

 
I know that the relationships we seek, cultivate, maintain, and feed from are precisely what our minds are hearts not only desire, but also need to survive. Would I be too off-base if I suggested that the notion behind people being in our lives for a reason is, actually, quite reasonable? Perhaps there is some kind of subconscious drive—even a biological trait for programmed to enhance biological fitness—that connects us to individuals who may help us, train us, coach us, motivate us, push us, challenge us, love us. In a sense, maybe the friends I have or the relationships I seek are precisely “what a body needs” (besides milk…1990s commercial reference—anyone?) to make meaning from this subjective reality called “life.”

I think of these things right now because I have to think of the friendships I’ve made within the last year, as well as the friendships I’ve worked to maintain throughout my life. There are high school friends, college friends, Air Force friends, rugby friends, sorority friends, work friends, and the list goes on and on. You could label me professional “friend-maker.” I enjoy reaching out to new people and making connections so that I may, even if for an instant, feel as though I belong to something bigger than myself. I get a “social high” from learning new things from others; I want to see something through someone elses' eyes so that I can either question or validate my perception of my environment. I never want to be right. I always want to be right. Does that make sense? I want to my eyes to be opened to something I’ve never experienced, do not agree with, or wish to understand. Only then may I begin to perceive a fraction of our human potential while I also begin to create an understanding of my own potential and purpose.

Lately I’ve begun to consider my place in my friends’ lives and the role they play in mine. I can say that it seems as though many of my circle of friends are operating under the “Confused” state of mind, not quite understanding why our (and yes, I’m including myself within this population) vision is particularly cloudy when we try to see ourselves. When I say this, I making an innocuous generalization as not every person I come into contact with is questioning their present state of being. But let’s face it: many of us are. Every day. Sometimes all day. The fortunate few(?) who are lucky enough to be clued-in to their purpose and personal direction are also known to question their direction from time to time as well.

But what happens if we’re not so fortunate as to have a road map to our personal journey? What happens if, when we look out of our spiritual window, we find that we are caught in the middle of an emotional traffic jam going nowhere without a road sign to guide us, without at least a musty old road atlas in the trunk to see us through?

I know that:

I hate feeling stagnant. I hate feeling confused. I hate not knowing where I should be.

I hate not knowing what I should be doing. I hate not knowing.

It seems to me that “not knowing” is kind of like doing manual labor in the sun all day, getting dirty and covered in sweat, then not being able to take a shower for days. You feel capable of completing your work tasks, shoveling food into your mouth because you’re hungry, lying down to sleep because you’re tired. But you’re uncomfortable and unnerved by layer of filth that sticks to your skin in the middle of the night. You cannot sleep. You cannot think. You can only consider yourself in a mediated position of existence. You, essentially, are not you. And you cannot be you until you are able to rid yourself of the muck of your daily drudgery. So the question becomes: How?

How do you begin to find your way if everything in front of you is a jumbled mess?

How do you interpret what is “right” for you and what is “wrong” for you?

How do you shed the pieces of your past in order make room for you future?

How do you become who you want to be without losing who you already are?

I hate that I may not know the perfect answer to these questions, but I do have an idea.

Too often we allow fear hold us back from finding out answers to the questions we ask ourselves. I probably do this on a daily basis, as a matter of fact. But when my life does seem “like a jumbled mess” (yes, I’m quoting myself here), I try to make myself walk forward, push the messes aside one by one, and test the strength of those messy boundaries. More often than not, it’s impossible to comprehend the true nature of the messes I create for myself or obstacles that happen to stand in my way. But with some time (and this may take months or even years), it’s possible to begin to understand where you went astray and how you need to proceed.

I can tell you that even I am not an expert in my own life. And when it comes to doing what is “right” and doing what is “wrong,” I can say that I am the last person you want to ask. I will not tell you how to live your life or judge you for living it the way you do. In fact, I think one of my greatest attributes is an attitude of non-discrimination. It is also probably one of my greatest character flaws. Most people say it’s best to choose our social perception of “right” over “wrong.” But I resolve to believe that the greatest mistake you can make is not to choose the “wrong” thing—but to not choose at all. You may never know what is right for you until you make a decision to decide to know. In other words, choose something. And I am the first to admit that I’ve made mistakes by going against the grain. But I’d be a liar (and a fool) if I said I didn’t learn from them. We do stupid shit when we 1) do not know what else to do, 2) decide that we don’t care about the consequences of our actions, (and) or 3) resolve that the “stupid shit” is actually justified and, therefore, not inherently stupid. In all cases, I’d argue that at least we are doing something whether it be the best choice or not. I’d challenge you in any case to at least be able to analyze your actions and describe whether they have or haven’t advanced you in the direction you’d like to be headed in life. (And in most cases, we never have a clue where we want to go to begin with. But it’s a start, right?)

If we make mistakes and choose the unorthodox path because we’re lost: Fine. You make room for the future if you choose to learn from your past (and paths).

So how does this equation add-up? How do we become who we want to be if we’re busy fucking up who we already are? The answer I’d like to render, I’m afraid, is simple: You already are who you will be.

I shrug my shoulders because I can’t help that I am and always will be the eternal optimist. And I make no apologies for it. Here’s the deal: I accept the fact that I have the life I have because I’ve chosen to have it. Plain and simple. Yes, we can argue that I’ve had certain advantages that others may not have had. I also have had disadvantages that you will never know about (but probably do because I can’t help but wear my heart on my sleeve and act out compulsively in light of them—funny but true). Ultimately, I believe in my own potential to figure out my problems whether or not I screw stuff up in the mean time. If we’re only human, than what better way to be human than to succumb to error from time to time?

And as far as my friends go who are lost, I know that no matter how lost we are or seem to be, we have to understand that the relationships we’ve created (and sometimes even been forced into—ahem, family) are in our lives for a particular purpose: to mirror back what we do enjoy, appreciate, and love about ourselves and about life in general. Our funny friends tell us that we like to laugh. Our fashionable friends tell us that we need help finding an outfit. Our creative friends tell us that we appreciate aesthetics. Our intelligent friends tell us that we enjoy stimulating conversation. But here’s the catch—they never tell us these things out loud. We can know these things because of who our friends, quite simply, are. And guess what? They know and appreciate these qualities about us, too. I might sound crazy (usually I do), but what I’m ultimately offering is not an answer to life’s problems and mysteries. Instead, I’d like to think I’m only pointing out that we have a guide to show us the way (For the religious readers: Besides Jesus, ok?): friends.

I know that your friends are the dusty road atlases hidden in your trunk. Your friends are the annoying  navigation voices that tell you to turn the other way. Your friends are the Windex that clean up the smudges on your windshield as you are, as Julia Sugarbaker [the late Dixie Carter] says, “Driving down the highway of life with your pantyhose tucked into the back of your dress.” 

2011 Fashion Rues and Won'ts

I saw, like, 100 girls wearing this dress.

I'm not sure if I’m the only person who noticed this, but it seemed like the theme for New Years dresses in 2011 was spandex. I mean, I couldn’t get a 7 & 7 without bumping into a stick-thin girl in a sparkly black spandex one-shoulder or strapless dress wearing pointy high heels which looked like a cross between S & M attire and medieval weaponry. I guess if your outfit screams “rape me,” your shoes should at least offer some kind of self-defense protection. It could be that Old City Philadelphia was significantly inundated with tight dresses and 21-year old skinny bitches with big hair and shoes because it is, after all, in quite close proximity to New Jersey—the nation’s capital of big hair, tight dresses, and shoes which double as fetish artillery . Please let me explain, however, that I have no disdain for women who happen to be skinnier than myself and choose to wear tight-fitting clothing. In fact, many of these girls were so fucking hot, I would have felt them up had I had more to drink. I couldn’t help but say to my husband: “Have you ever been around this many hot girls all at once? Because I haven’t.” He has—but a Vegas strip club doesn’t count, I reminded him (mostly because no man can discern attractiveness if they’re staring at boobs—gay men being the exception). You can imagine that my NYE 2011 was kind of like a spin-off of Jersey Shore without a hefty portion of the steroids, hair gel, tanning lotion and (unfortunate) hot pants worn with Uggs. There also wasn’t enough fist-pumping for my taste, but I’ve resolved to overlook it.
          You may begin to wonder: what is the point of all this social commentary and disparaging remarks about the Garden State? The point, my friends, lies not under the tightly woven dress fibers of your average skinny Jersey guidette. No no. Instead, I have to point the finger at my curvy sisters who made the regrettable decision to hop onto the bandwagon and follow this season’s fashion trends: the tight (and I mean TIGHT) dress.

Ladies, ladies, ladies. (I shake my head)

I, being a curvy woman, purposely choose NOT to reveal the intimate nature of my body’s lines if I do not have to. I understand that in the 1950s, both Jayne Mansfield and Marilyn Monroe pulled off the body-hugging satin dress with elegance, poise and style. If you watch films like “Girl Can’t Help it” (1956) or “The Prince and the Showgirl” (1957), the camera captures both women in body-clinging material, curves in full glory; it seems that either woman shines in feminine grandeur even with the visibility of a slightly puffy midsection. That is not to say that by today’s standards, women cannot enjoy the same admiration for showing off their curvy figures. The difference, say, between the 1950s and today is that in the 50s they wore things like girdles, corselettes and controlettes. Today we wear either control top panty hose or Spanx. SKINNY GIRLS: typically wear underwear without the bother of pantyhose. Therefore, the problem I have with big girls trying to wear skinny girls’ clothes is the blatant disregard for proper undergarments.

The Corselette

Ladies, ladies, ladies. If there is a jiggle in your wiggle, put your wiggle in some GD Spanx. Trust me: you will look and feel so much better! I even thank myself when I remember to wear them. If you must be so bold as to resemble your trendy friends, then be bold enough to risk the elimination of panty lines. Repeat: Spanx GOOD. Bulging hip line: BAD.

Obviously, I am not attempting to pass judgment upon a group of individuals whom I cannot identify with. I am a curvy lady, so I choose to accentuate those hour-glass lines in positive ways: a dress that is slim through the waist, flowing on the bottom, shorter to make my (freakishly short) legs look longer—something that flatters the feminine camber of my body. When I look at myself in a mirror, the last dress I want to see is one which highlights the bumps, dimples, and bulges scattered about my silhouette. I'd like to also be clear that I'm not a woman who maintains a poor body image: I like who I am, and I'm working to improve my body's nature appearance every day (by going to the gym and eating right...most of the time). I prefer to draw the average on-looker’s eye to the sexy bend of my body rather than distract them by (what I consider) my physical imperfections.

And within the last section is the key: they are physical imperfections. I am by no means down-playing the infinite power of the individual’s BEST accessory:

Personality.

Unless your personality blows, it is, in fact, the one thing that makes you extraordinary, rare, distinctive, and valuable no matter how thin or full figured you happen to be. Most of the time, I perceive women (and men) for the way they carry themselves, the way they allow themselves to flow in and out of conversation, the sparkle of their smile. A bitchy woman in a tight dress is not as sexy as a vibrant and vivacious full-figured woman in jeans and a sweatshirt.

So ladies, despite the poor fashion judgment this past New Year's Eve, I grant you this one "bye" in the game of looking good. You don't have to buy a dress like all of your friends because you'd like to fit into the crowd. STAND OUT! Buy the dress that looks the best on you, that feels the best, that allows for you to let both your lovely figure and personality SHINE. And while the outer-self is most often what we see first, hold on tight to the beauty of your inner self--yes, even as tightly as spandex clings to your ass.