Seven by Seven

I was at a workshop on Saturday, and something one of the students said got me thinking about a concept that’s come up in past spiritual classes I’ve taken: the idea that your body’s cells completely replace and recycle themselves over the course of 7 years.

(N.B.: This isn’t precisely true, though it’s a potent metaphor, and one that is linked in some ways to scientific reality.*)

And as I thought briefly about this concept of 7-year cycles in human life, it hit me like a ton of bricks.

That’s why my year is off to such a start!’

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A World Without

Last night, after what has been a draining week both on the national and personal fronts, I received the same “chain letter” from a few different theater friends on Facebook messenger. The message encouraged women to enact a “female blackout” on social media today: to change their profile picture to a solid square of black, as a way of showing solidarity with survivors of domestic abuse and demonstrating the value of women’s contributions by taking them away for a day and making “men wonder where the women are.”

I’m guessing this chain got going coming out of the general sense of exhaustion, despair, and rage so many of us are feeling after the shitshow that was the Brett Kavanaugh hearing this past Thursday. In all honesty, until I went back to re-read things before writing this post,* I was misremembering the stated solidarity message to be more expansive, and to include survivors of sexual violence as well as of domestic violence. The fact that the focus was narrower suggests to me that this chain letter was started/written some time ago, but I can understand why this past week’s events might inspire it to be distributed again.

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Why I Hate Weight Watchers

Over the past couple months, I’ve been in the interesting position of being faced with the news that a couple different friends are embarking on paths in pursuit of intentional weight loss. One joined Weight Watchers and one had bariatric surgery.
These different news flashes presented me with a momentary conundrum: considering everything I have read and learned in the last decade about how intentional weight loss doesn’t work, and my own desire to be a size acceptance advocate*, what, I asked myself, should I say in response to these friends making choices I didn’t especially agree with?
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#loveiscompany

It occurs to me that when I was writing about the show last week, I may accidentally have created a false sense of opposition between the gifts the production gave me and the insights I was exploring around fatness and self-hatred. That’s not exactly the case.

I mean, don’t get me wrong: it was hella sobering to face up to the self-hatred. (I kind of imagine some wacky Dorian-Grey-like scenario, only with me gazing into a mirror with some twisted and bestial reflection.) Nevertheless, I am also profoundly grateful for this deeper level of awareness. You can’t clear what you don’t acknowledge, and so I am grateful to Spirit for bringing me this wake-up in the guise of a theatrical part.

So, yes, count this new awareness, however uncomfortable the truth may be, to be one of the production’s gifts to me.

But there were other, more ribbon-wrapped sorts of gifts, too.

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Posted in Gratitudes and Thank Yous, Memoir, Practicing in the Heart, Self-Acceptance | Tagged , , , | Leave a comment

The Shape I’m In

One of the main living-my-life endeavors that has occupied my time and energy during my “forgetting how to write” patch was doing a show. Yes, after all was said and done, I got a part in that Sondheim show I blogged about back in May, when I was convinced I hadn’t passed muster. Go figure.

The show was Sondheim’s Company, which, for the uninitiated, circles on a group of friends in 1970 NYC: one single guy/womanizer (Bobby), 3 of his girlfriends, and 5 married couples who use their get-togethers with Bobby as a way to ease/escape whatever tensions are going on within the marital bond.

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Use Your Words

It’s like I’ve forgotten how to write right now.

As with so many autobiographical things I say here on JALC (auto-blogographical?), that statement has a bit of hyperbole to it. In the workplace context, I am as verbose with the proposal-writing as I have ever been. (Which is a damn good thing, considering our deadline calendar for the summer.)

But I have not been writing anything in my out-of-work time. Nothing here, nothing on Will4Will, not even anything in my journal.

Not a good pattern.

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A Qualitative Judgement

Well, the decluttering death march continues at its snail’s pace.

Yeah, that’s hyperbole. Not so much about the “snail’s pace” bit, but more the self-indulgent and ham-handed analogy. After all, struggling with the quote-unquote burden of too much abundance in my life and home is the Firstiest of First World Problems, wouldn’t you say?

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Posted in Memoir, Self-Acceptance, Stuff about Stuff, The Voices in My Head | Tagged , , , , , | 1 Comment