The Time is Always Now

In November Lewis Lapham wrote the last Notebook essay for Harpers. He was abstract in his explanation of why but I think he's just doing other things. I've had that issue of Harpers open on my scanner since then because of the last line.

I know no other way out of what is both the maze of the eternal present and the prison of the self except with a string of words.

At the time I think I had something to say in response. Something about writing. Something about the maze of the eternal present and/or the prison of the self. I don't remember. Mom was here and I become absorbed by the need to make a meal or help with something. And then she was gone and I gave myself permission to space out for awhile. The eternal present is, in fact, a maze. In another line from that last paragraph Lapham says it more clearly than I.

The time is always now, and what gets lost is all thought of what happened yesterday, last week, three months or three years ago.

I wouldn't say all thought is lost but certainly whatever (no doubt) (cough) brilliant thing I was intending to write has gone. And, more to the point, nothing has replaced it. But I've been reading more. And reading makes me think about writing. It might be a beginning.

Or just another maze.

Gleek

So....I was confused after I watched Glee the other night. Leslie Kinzel wrote a post close to what I might have written. Convenient because she embedded some video and does a break down of the show. I don't have as many issues with the show in general and I like Puck. The possibly redeemable bad boy is always charming to me. Where Leslie and I had the exact same reaction was when the fat girl finds Fat Bottom Girl offensive.

Wait. What? Indeed.

I've been thinking about it ever since. I've always loved the song. The suggestion that a fat nanny molested her charge is problematic but ... it's Queen. The hyper sexualization of fat bottomed girls is problematic. I guess. But I don't really have big issues with all of that. And when Puck was singing it I was thrilled. It was also a moment when we saw the fat girl soften.

I haven't loved the Ashely Fink character. She is always eating candy and she's just unpleasant. But she is also strong and self assured. Never more so than in this episode. and the softening, sweetness we see as the song is being sung to her adds dimension. She was extremely cool in every way but the song made her feel "like crap".

Wait. What?

My first size acceptance moments were somewhat passive. I wasn't loving being fat. I was just deciding to not hate it. I've never really celebrated being fat. I can't really get there. I don't celebrate things that aren't particularly interesting to me. Appearance is not interesting to me. I enjoy the feeling when I look in the mirror and think I look good. I enjoy seeing my friends and family when they look good, which they pretty much always do. I enjoy loving a physical feature when I'm feeling attractive. But these experiences are fleeting. I celebrate when something feels like change and joy and realization.

In the early days I didn't want to talk about being fat. I wanted it to not matter. As time has gone on I've realized how much a part of my identity being fat is. It's an important part of why I am who I am. And I am more aggressively fat in the sense that I do not suffer any foolishness about it. It's a political identity. I want nothing less than full inclusion.

I wish the show would have been more clear about why the character didn't like the song. There is an assumption that the audience would know why. It's confusing. It doesn't fit the character.

Puck also wooed Mercedes. And she was similarly dismissive of advances. I like that. I like that these young women have a sense of their own value. And I still love Mercedes rejecting the idea that she needed to lose weight and singing I Am Beautiful so powerfully. Glee does come through with a strong positive message about diversity. Generally speaking.

I have a similar experience when I talk about the fat revolution with people. The idea that being fat is an illness and must be confronted and changed is so deeply rooted. It's really hard for people make a full change of perception. Many of my best friends (including some in the fat revolution camp) hold onto the idea that fat equals wrong. I think that's why time and time again we see people from the revolution hedging on television when asked if they wouldn't rather be thin.

Recently I noticed that I seem to give people the impression that I believe I can't lose weight. I don't believe that. I do believe that I can't be thin. I've had the experience too many times. I lose weight but I never get to thin. And I don't care. This is my body.

Oddly enough I heard Oprah articulating how I feel in an interview with Barbara Walters. She said that she knows how much she needs to exercise and eat to lose weight and she isn't interested in living like that. She exercises. She eats in a healthy manner. She still wishes she was thin. But what has been so obvious with Oprah is that her body returns to fat if she doesn't work out like an athlete and eat with hyper vigilance. She seems to have given up on that.

So I think the thing that wasn't being said Glee was something like this fat girl is attractive and strong and does not need your approval but ... she'd rather be thin.

Maybe.

Something like that.

Sigh.

Yoga. HAES. Scary monsters.

There was a dust up on a yoga blog about fat people doing yoga and the idea of HAES (health at any size). I won't link it. It isn't interesting. I skimmed it long enough to read the same kinds of things I've been reading for years. One comment stuck in my mind. Something about how a person who weighs 400 pounds can't possibly be healthy.

Compared to who?

I'm mostly bored with these same old conversations. I am also irritated but it's like the irritation caused by popcorn stuck in your teeth. It is serious and important to confront the thinking, or lack there of, but I'm just ... I dunno. Worn.

Yesterday morning on some morning news show Mom watches the (cough) big news that eating a certain number of fruits and vegetables every day reduces your risk of heart disease. And then there was a discussion about whether or not it was a hard thing to do.

When I worked at EA I realized that my perception of how people eat has been shaped by hanging out with hippies (brown rice and tofu) and foodies (butter and bacon). I didn't really know that what they say about how Americans eat is kinda true. Lots of soda and fast food. Lots of carbs and grease and sugar. OK. Maybe we do need people to explain how to incorporate fruits and vegetables. The "expert" on the show said that if people ate that way there would be less obesity because you'd fill up on the good stuff.

Mom and I were doing a grocery list the other day. In that context we recounted what we ate in any given day. It was mostly fruits and vegetables. It's a pretty common way for me to eat. Me. The fat person who is ruining everything. Me. The scary monster.

My chiropractor had a list of news years things to do on a board in her office. I already did all of them with the exception of ignoring the scale for awhile. I ignore it for way more than awhile.

I don't know if my doctor has ever heard of HAES. I've never felt the need to talk to her about it since she has always seemed very HAES to me. My fasting blood sugar has gone down for the last two years. I think this might be because as I have gotten older my ability to digest sugars, fats and carbs has weakened. When I eat more than I can digest I get a stomach ache. I think there might be pills I can take but that has never made sense to me. I've moderated my consumption and I have fewer stomach aches. This year we also tested my blood sugar after I ate breakfast. She said that it was higher than we (doctors) usually want to see but for someone my size it was really good. She wasn't worried about it. Another doctor might have pushed me to loose weight but she never has. She encourages me to stay active. She knows I swim. She assesses my health in the context of the whole picture, which includes my weight but doesn't pivot around it.

I'm not sure all HAES people agree on what it means. There is a focus on weight neutrality and positive reinforcement of ... pretty much everything. Issues in the group arise when anyone mentions any prohibition on any kind of eating. Sometimes it feels infantilizing. I'm not sure how many HAES people would think that what my doc said would be HAES since she said my size was a factor in how we understood the numbers. For me it was a perfect HAES articulation because it included awareness of my weight but didn't seek to fit me into "what we usually want to see."

There is a way for any person of any weight to be healthy. It's always disconcerting for me when people who do things like yoga are so mean spirited, hateful and intractable. I think they might be healthier if they did some original thinking.

I recently bought Sally's new disc. Mom is still here so I haven't been able to go through it yet but I'm pretty excited about it. I've been having trouble getting my practice going again. There are so many little bits with yoga. I forget things. So the disc will give me some structure and help me remember. I tried to do it with Mom but she wouldn't try. She often stretches and rolls her neck and such but she had some resistance to the disc. Kinda didn't want to ask why.

No matter how many fruits and vegetables and whole grains I eat, no matter how much I swim or do yoga, I am the scary monster. Big, fat scary monster.

What.

Ever.

More on DFW

The truth is reading David Foster Wallace has always been a bit beyond my ability. I struggle for every moment of comprehension. I stumbled on Everything and More years ago and thought maybe DFW could guide me through the math. I've made several attempts to read the book. I fail.

I got Fate, Time and Language for Christmas and opened it with the combination of delight and dread I always feel. I had no idea that philosophers used a language so similar to math. Once again I am struggling. Why do I try? Because there is something so compelling. So lucid.

DFW thought the first line of Tractatus was the most beautiful line in western lit. And now I am struggling to read it as well.

The news is still full of falling birds and floods and bad faith. My desire to claw out of the corner of frustration, rage and fear I painted myself into is troubled a bit. If I trust anything I trust lucidity. Love is well intentioned. Faith is a flame in the wind. Lucidity calms me.

So I struggle on.

Loss

I wrote yesterday's post before the news from Arizona. I was trying to describe the balancing act I find myself in when absorbing news and my desire to be less miserable. I noted my use of detachment. And then the news came in and I was shocked. But I quickly moved on to ... I don't even know what. It was much later after hours of news that I started to internalize the event.

Mom and I recently watched Milk. She didn't remember what went on and wanted to see it. I do remember the events and had seen the movie but was still moved to tears through most of it. Public officials being shot feels too normal to me. The assassinations in the sixties were more shocking. I remember each one. At some point I developed a sense of inevitability. It's not OK. It's not OK to accept acts of madness.

It's not really acceptance.

It's a kind of resignation.

Not OK.

Conversations on Facebook, Twitter and the news have been fraught. The right trying to emphasize that this was the act of a madman and the politics don't matter. The left pointing at the rhetoric of the right.

The second amendment is what it is. I can't call on the constitution to support the rights I want and ignore the ones I think I are stupid. But the constitution was never meant to be a stagnant document. I don't like guns. I'd like them all to go away. But I know that isn't going to happen any time soon. And it is true that this was an act of madness.

I think it should be ridiculously difficult to get a gun.

Years ago I saw a movie in which the bad guy was so odious and relentlessly bad that when the good guy shot him it felt like victory. And the good guy shot the bad guy multiple times. More times than necessary and each time he fired it felt like victory. I don't like that feeling. And when that feeling is engendered by culture I find it troubling.

But there is that other amendment. Something about the right to speak freely. While I cringe at the target, reload, shooting metaphors I strongly support the rights of people to use them. Are these metaphors akin to shouting fire in a crowded theater? Somewhat. None of this is simple.

There probably are times when shooting is the most expedient solution.

I might be guilty of moral relativism but I don't see solid footing. I see a moment of evolution. We do need to lean toward civility and away from reckless rhetoric. We also need to hear each other.

Loss triggers rage, grief, frustration, confusion. his morning I noticed how many of the dead were senior citizens. And, of course, the nine year old girl. Rage, grief, frustration, confusion.

Deep breath.

Birds and Fish and Dogs. Oh my.

Falling from the sky. Dieing en masse. Going missing. It's all so end of the world.

Mom and I were sitting in the living room yesterday and my chair moved. The plant next to me shook. I waited, hoping Mom hadn't noticed but she said, " what was that?" The table shaking gave it away. It was a small earthquake. No damage. Mom has been here when there was a similar shake and she didn't notice. This time she noticed and was worried for awhile.

I am afraid. Often. These days things all seem mysterious and suggestive. All of these things stir up a sense of panic and dread. But I'm also detached. I feel a need to be distant and vigilant.

My swim schedule got out of whack during the holidays. The pool was closed a few days. I dropped the bowl of the Cuisine Art on my toe and took a chunk out of it. It's not a good idea to swim in a public pool with an open cut. People were visiting. I had a two part root canal. So.

This week I got back in the pool a few times. Felt good.

It's different when Mom is around. I'm always aware of her. I lose track of myself.

Might not be a bad thing.

Life Before Death

I reread a book by David Foster Wallace recently. For most of his books that would be a feat but this is a small book in which the publisher has broken a commencement speech he gave into small chunks. His writing is usually a wall of words. He is the only writer who compels me to read the footnotes. So reading him as aphorism is already disorienting. The text of the book has been posted but the experience of reading it in the book is so different from reading, or even listening to him.

Poignant, ironic, almost eerie. His innate wisdom and clarity didn't save him.

The speech makes the point that we have some agency in terms of what and how we choose to think. He articulates it with a Zen simplicity. He talks about the need for reflection and awareness and curiosity.

And he hung himself.

He had a wife and a job and a house and success in a field of endeavor he must have at least liked. He suffered from depression for years. He medicated and electroshocked and tried to use his brilliant mind and in the end he hung himself.

There is no way to understand. Suicide is is not simple. Not really. But it feels like I understand.

He talks about the narcissistic way we live and perceive the world. He understood that much. And he hung himself.

I don't make resolutions but I am trying to make a shift in the way I am seeing things. Not so much trying to be more positive but at least trying to not be reflexively negative. I've considered suicide since I was very young. I've made a few flailing attempts. What stops me is the feeling that it is such a self centered thing to do. No matter how much I isolate my self there will always be a few people in my life and I don't want to cause them any amount of pain. And I think DFW may have understood that he was going to cause pain. And I don't think he was unkind.

Just.

Maybe.

Tired.

Part of the swirl of a new year is the idea of resolution. And that makes sense. Since my birthday is in the middle of the year I do some kind of critical self assessment every six months and try to imagine what I need to do to wake up.

This is water.

This is water.

In so may ways it's about acceptance. But not a pouting, resigned version. An active, embarrassing of the day in, day out. An ability to take some pleasure in the small and insignificant. Maintaining balance in the face of frustration and rage and loneliness.

I don't really know what it takes.

But the sun is out.

I'm going for a walk.