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This is what I know:
I am smart, kind, funny, good at my job
I am not beautiful, sexy, and I am not That girl.

I never have been, in 42 years. So to go along with thinking I am is to invite disappointment, misery and heartbreak. Having men tell me these things and be interested in me is not Me, it is not who I am. For whatever reason, this is an anomaly, and I would be foolish and delusional to think it has some substance. The longer I play into this delusion the worse it will be in the end.

The loud boom you might have just heard was the sound of me falling back to earth this week. Girls like me were never meant to fly. And thinking we can or should leads only to an inevitable collision with gravity.

Remember the Stephen King novel, Carrie and the movie of the same name starring Sissy Spacek? Carrie was an awkward, shy, homely teenage misfit, who at the same time envied and avoided the Beautiful People at her high school. Carrie knew she was not That girl, but part of her longed to be. The Beautiful People thought up a little joke to play on Carrie. They let her believe she could be That girl. They showered her with false praise, encouraged her to go beyond her comfort zone, to believe she could be like them…beautiful, desired, accepted. The Beautiful People convinced Carrie that she—homely, awkward misfit—could be Prom Queen! Carrie could only dream of such things. But they convinced her, and she stuck her neck out. She went to Prom feeling beautiful, evolved, accepted, happy! And when she stood on the stage accepting her crown as Prom Queen, she thought she was one of them. But the Beautiful People were out to teach Carrie a lesson. About how you should never try to reach above your lot in life. You are who you are. So they fixed the contest, so that Carrie would be Prom Queen, so that she would believe all they said about her. And then, as she stood there, they dumped a bucket of pig’s blood all over her and started to laugh. They laughed at the sight of her, and they laughed at the absurdity of someone like Carrie believing she could be That girl. They got her good.

And I imagine how Carrie, standing there with her curled hair, evening gown and dripping in pig’s blood would have described her emotional state to a reporter on the scene, much like an athlete does immediately after winning or losing the gold medal:

“Carrie, this was probably the biggest moment in your life so far, something you have looked forward to, dreamed of, and it didn’t turn out how you had imagined. What are you feeling right now, Carrie?”

“Well Bob, it’s really a disappointing outcome, I really thought I could do it and I trained really hard for tonight. I would say I am disappointed, embarrassed, hurt, humiliated, sad, and I feel rejected. And I am also really angry, not so much at what happened here tonight, but at myself for thinking I was ready for this level of competition. I think I knew it wasn’t right, but I kept listening to the people around me and they were all so positive. I think I have learned my lesson, Bob, and I am not going to compete at this level again.”

“So, are you saying you’re considering retirement, Carrie?”

“Well, Bob, it’s something I think I need to seriously consider given the outcome today.”

“Thanks Carrie. Back to you in the studio Jim….”

I am Carrie. I am the developmentally challenged little boy whose baseball team lets him think he hit a home run, cheers him around the bases as they purposely fumble the ball and walk around the infield. When he crosses home plate, they all cheer wildly and congratulate him, and he beams with pride thinking he has just done something great. Has he? No, they just let him think that. In reality he is a simple fool who will never be like the rest of them, and whose self-pride is based on a lie.

The West is preoccupied with “more, better, best”. We are not supposed to be happy with our lot in life. We are supposed to demand the best; be the happiest; be all that you can be! The truth is, only the beautiful get to be beautiful, only the happy get to be happy. The rest of us have to be content with our lot in life, with whatever struggle we are given. To demand more is selfishness, and arrogance.

Girls like me and Carrie were never meant to fly....

I've heard this before somewhere....

Somebody's Song

This is what I vow;
He shall have my heart to keep,
Sweetly will we stir and sleep,
All the years, as now.
Swift the measured sands may run;
Love like this is never done;
He and I are welded one:
This is what I vow.

This is what I pray:
Keep him by me tenderly;
Keep him sweet in pride of me,
Ever and a day;
Keep me from the old distress;
Let me, for our happiness,
Be the one to love the less:
This is what I pray.

This is what I know:
Lovers' oaths are thin as rain;
Love's a harbinger of pain –
Would it were not so!
Ever is my heart a-thirst,
Ever is my love accurst;
He is neither last nor first:
This is what I know.

---Dorothy Parker


Maybe there's a God above
All I ever learned from Love
Is how to shoot at someone who outdrew you
It's not a cry you can hear at night
It's not somebody who's seen the light
It's a cold and it's a broken Hallelujah

---Leonard Cohen, Hallelujah


At 17 (42)

I learned the truth at seventeen
That love was meant for beauty queens
And high school girls with clear skinned smiles
Who married young and then retired
The valentines I never knew
The Friday night charades of youth
Were spent on one more beautiful
At seventeen I learned the truth

To those of us who knew the pain
Of valentines that never came
And those whose names were never called
When choosing sides for basketball
It was long ago and far away
The world was younger than today
And dreams were all they gave for free
To ugly duckling girls like me

---Janis Ian

Who's That girl?

You know That girl. The one who exudes sex appeal, who is beautiful, makes men weak in the knees, unable to speak coherently? The one who carries herself as a beautiful woman does, with confidence, optimism, a sense of calm and also of impending danger. She knows it in her soul, that she is beautiful, that she has a power over men. She enjoys it, it nurtures her being, it causes her to smile and hold her head high, to smile at strangers and wear her best clothes and makeup even on a quick trip to the market. She is not necessarily vain; no, she may be quite humble, and when questioned directly about her beauty or sex appeal she may deny its presence, say she is plain, just like everyone else, nothing special. But her deportment and radiance belie her modesty. These are the women for whom men write songs and poetry; for whom they do silly sappy things that they will not admit to in front of their brethren. Bring chicken soup when she is sick. Rub her back when she has cramps. Send emails and text messages with little happy faces blowing kisses. You know these women. You know the effect they have on men.

I have never been That girl. Never. My beauty has always been in my personality…my brains, my abilities, my friendship. Those are the qualities that attract my friends, that bring about compliments, that form the scaffold of my identity. But sex appeal, physical beauty, these are not things I am familiar with. I know them well, my friends are Those girls. I have seen the effect first hand, have been there to act as translator, chaperone, buffer, decoy, excuse. To gently sweep up the bits of men left in their wakes, to assure them, listen sympathetically and set them on their way. I am the girl men want as their best friend, confidante, activity partner. Occasionally even as a lover. But they are clear, I am not That girl. They deny any loss of cognitive ability in my presence; there is no disturbance of motor control or impulsive declarations of love set to music, accompanied by hearts and flowers. With me, men are sensible, practical, measured.

So what of my recent experiences? Where men have used words like “beautiful”, “sexy”, “hot” when describing me. Where they have rambled about “gazing into my eyes”, sent me happy faces blowing hearts and kisses and blathered about my ability to make them go “crazy”. What is this about? “You have an incredible body” is not a phrase I have ever heard, even from my husband. I know I don’t, so to hear it is both flattering and shocking and slightly irritating. Having never thought of myself as being That girl, I am very unaccustomed to receiving her praise and eliciting her effects on men. I don’t know what the hell is going on to be quite honest.

I am not That girl. I am afraid, however, that I will start to believe I am. Believe my own hype. The way down is long. Girls like me were never meant to fly.

What time is it?

Hmm, Sunday...April. Wow. At some points I was quite certain I would not make it this far; how to breathe when the oxygen has left you (for another set of lungs in Scotland)? Like it or not, I am still breathing--this oxygen substitute is almost like the real thing.

I have been....distracting. Engaging in self-centred, ego-boosting distraction. Big project at work, lots of travel, for work and to see my best friend. All roads have led to Vancouver, and that's not bad. I have my young cousin staying with me presently. She has just finished her teacher's practicum and in just a few short days will be a fully qualified teacher. Having her here has been a fabulous distraction, because, despite our 16 year age difference (guess who is older) I feel like we have been roomates, and my lack of attention to household chores and the other mundane requirements of being an adult just sort of seems age appropriate. Never mind that it is appropriate for her age, not mine. I have just managed to slide by doing less than the minimum. Cats are still alive; I doubt they would let me get away without feeding them.

That's not to say I have been neglecting myself! Oh no, to the contrary. New clothes, shoes, hair, to outfit my slowly diminishing figure. And lots of going out. I'm a young social butterfly, newly escaped from my cocoon! And dripping in purple prose.

On the self esteem front, things are okay. My young cuz tells me I have a more exciting life than her; guys HER age are asking me out. I guess I'm not dead, or over the hill, or quite so boring as I imagined. I don't want to un-exist anymore; not for the moment, anyway. I see possibilities, lots of them. Too many. I don't know what to do this summer. My choices: visit my best friend and her husband in Australia where they will be for two months (he's a professor, will be teaching at U of Sydney); while they are away, stay by myself at their fabulous urban-chic condo in downtown Vancouver (15th floor, view of the ocean), complete with car and all amenities; visit my screenwriter/actor friends in Toronto and my buddy in Boston (doing his PhD at MIT); London and Paris, by myself (I've been both cities before and I love them). Not bad options.

Still no word from hubby, save the Valentines flowers and card. I know he loves me. I know I am the best thing that has ever happened to him. I know he has problems. I still love him, always will. Next month is our anniversary--6 years. I expect I will hear from him then. I have made plans to be in Vancouver, and I think I might have a date.....

Q

Hairapy

What is it about having really great hair that can change your mood, your outlook, the way people respond to you? I had a great week last week, despite it being V-Day and all. I spent the cursed evening in Vancouver with my best friend and another girlfriend. All without male accoutrements for the day, we gathered in her metro-chic condo, ordered in a Thai feast, drank Champagne Cocktails and did girly stuff. We put on hair-masks and face-masks and did our toes and fingernails. And in our pjs with shower caps on and green muck drying on our faces, making it impossible to smile or laugh without looking slightly demonic, we toasted sisterhood and beauty products. Next day we all got our hair and makeup done and went for lunch, accompanied by alcoholic concoctions that seemed downright sinful for a Friday afternoon. And the hair! Best friend's now sleek and straight, shimmering a thousand caramel highlights, other friend looking like an updated Charlie's Angel, all waves and volume, and me---ME---Miss Straight-As-Pins Hair, full of glorious curls, ringlets even! I fairly glided out of the salon, curls bouncing as I went. I felt buoyant, different, beautiful. The curls lasted an incredible 4 days, and the compliments! Strange, a little thing like hair. But I felt I could take on the world, and win. The curls are gone now, but not the feeling.

I have a photo. It is the first one in a long time I actually like to look at.

Q

What Was

Walk in
Walk out
Leave your face at the door
I see your smile; it haunts my mind
And drips from my eyes to the floor

Take my trust
Steal my soul
Render me wasted and bare
Puncture my veins; bleed me of life
Accept me; say you care

Weaken my knees
Strangle my strength
Tug on my heart with your claws
Feast on my fear
TELL ME YOU CARE
Lie to me; bring back what was....

Okay, I wrote that quite some time ago, for another unrequited love, but never was able to finish it. I think I found the words. But it describes more aptly what I felt 8 weeks ago, although I could never have concentrated long enough to actually think of words then. I do want What Was. But I know it is gone, and absolutely unfair of me to expect someone to change fundamentally in order to support my happiness. I wouldn't be happy anyway. I so accutely feel the pain of those I love, that I am far healthier and happier when THEY are happy. But I do miss the illusion of normalcy---married, nice house, all so very middle class. Now I fear I am again being exposed for the alien I am, that I have always been. So unlike the others, so desperate to keep that a secret.

Q

New Shoes

I did something very unlike me. I invited 6 of my friends, whom I trust and respect and admire, to read my last post. This blog is still somewhat uncomfortable for me, like shoes that don't quite fit. I have always written out my angst...in poetry, epic tortured ramblings on scrap paper, sometimes only in my head. But I NEVER let people read it! It would be like walking out of the house naked or getting up to sing the national anthem at the Stanley Cup final. But, taking advice from the great modern philosopher, George Costanza, I decided to "do the opposite" of everything I would usually do. As George said so eloquently, his life was going nowhere doing what he was doing, so theoretically, if he did the exact opposite, it would turn around. And it did.
So I went public.

I wanted these people, these wise friends who have known me between 10 and 30 years, to give me answers. Although my good brain knew they would not criticize or think me self-consumed (I'm not, right?), my distorted brain imagined their responses: "Oh, she thinks she's a writer now!"; "For God's sake, isn't she over this yet...blah blah, we're all bored to tears already"; "How dramatic! Get over yourself!".

In fact, this is what they said:

"You promised not to give up on love. You didn't. He did. A relationship takes the commitment of two people, not just one. The relationship died. You didn't. Hopefully you learned about your capacity to love, care for, and forgive in a relationship. Hopefully you never blame yourself for his decision to end the relationship. If love is a rose and one person is the sun and the other is water - it takes two to make it grow and remain beautiful. When the sun is removed, or no water remains, the rose cannot and will not survive. But the sun can find other flowers to bring life to, so too can the water nurture life elsewhere. So your vow was to not give up on the love you found. Honest and sincere, you meant it and stuck by it, but sadly he doesn't want you anymore. So let god, karma, fate, destiny take care of his journey through life. Your vow - which is ultimately to be the most loving and caring person you could be, is complete. Til death do you part in this instance wasn't about the physical death of a person but the figurative death of the relationship."

"When the vow breaks you realize that it took two to make the vows. You vowed to each other. When he goes, there ain't noone left to be loyal to. Your vow, my sweet, is really to G.D. That is who you stay loyal to, not a person who does not at this time understand the significance of a divine union. Stay loyal to G.D and know that you are still a beautiful, significant woman. Give your love to a small child who has none. See how your divinity is made manifest in your vows through that relationship instead. So much more purposeful right now."

"I've been thinking about your question of vows. I don't know the answer, but I do think I understand the question. As it bubbles around my brain, I keep coming back to the idea of energy, how it cannot be created or destroyed, only changed in form. You're right, just because he has chosen to (is unable to, whatever) no longer honour his vows, doesn't mean that you have to 'break' yours. But maybe there's a different way of thinking about this. Maybe the vow can stay just as strong, but change in form. A vow is like a prayer, it has power. The words actually do something in the world, they change things, they act upon others. It's why we say them out loud. But they're not static. They can move and breathe and change form, just like we can.
To me, the decision to get married was just as much a decision to be present and alive as it was a decision to be faithful to X. It was a commitment to myself. Maybe part of what make vows so profound is our capacity for making them. You still have that power. While you're healing, your promise to love, honour, and cherish is still acting in the world. And while it's shifting and changing form, maybe that vow can come back and take care of you as you work through this. "

I have some wonderful, wise friends. For that, I am eternally thankful.