So many things are going on right now–I haven’t been here in so long, I’ve missed you, little corner of the internets, and you, readers, some of whom may be robots, but still. Hi.
I’ve been writing in a paper journal more lately than in the past few years. It’s amazing how much that simple act helps put things in perspective for me. I remember writing furiously as a teenager, crying or raging or something, and being able to calm myself down, talk myself off a ledge basically, just by writing down what I was thinking. It makes for embarrassing reading now, of course, but it was so valuable to me at the time.
Money–there’s not enough of it to support my current SOL. Just reviewed my loan situation since grad school and am pretty horrified. (And haven’t even calculated the hub’s loans yet.) On the one hand, I would like to let my job be school and the adult literacy center I help run. On the other, it’s hard not to spend money that’s there, even if you know it’s not really yours. Sigh. Maybe mint.com can help me more this go ’round.
Bodies–I’ll share an anecdote. Last night, my soccer-playing friend (S-PF), my swim team friend (STF), J, and I were all hanging out, having drinks at the local beer garden. It was the first time STF and S-PF had met each other and one of the first things STF said to her (S-PF) was, “So what do you do? Your body looks like a–dancer, or something.” (I should note here that S-PF is a petite, sporty 26-year-old woman, and STF is a high-energy, kick-ass 42-year-old woman whose idea of a good time is going on two swims and a run in one day.) S-PF, characteristic of her, stammered in slight embarrassment and replied that she plays soccer and runs a lot. STF then said that if S-PF was a bike, she would be like a light carbon model that’s easy to pick up. Unable to stop myself, I said, “Yeah and I’d be a heavy steel framed cruiser with saddlebags.” We all laughed; it was a light-hearted moment; but it bothered me for the rest of the night. It wasn’t anything about either of my friends–it was rather that the interaction dredged up all these old feelings about myself and my worth.
When we got home, I felt resolved (the steely, shame-motivated resolve of high school and early college) to change my ways, to exercise more regularly, more intensely, to stop being so “lazy.”
Lazy, as we all probably know, is teenage girl code for fat–and probably a larger cultural code for it too. In fact, “code” is probably giving it too much credit: think of the phrase “fat and lazy.” They go together.
Eventually, I got over my funky mood. But I think what bothered me so much was the assumption (which in this case is quite correct) that S-PF is an active, fit person. She is, indeed. But so am I, and I’ve never been asked that question. Strangers and acquaintances don’t approach me wondering how I’ve achieved the body I have. S-PF’s body is naturally smaller than mine, and people credit her with character, discipline, and good humor, all because she looks a certain way. Our lifestyles are similar, but I feel like I have to prove to people that I’m not lazy–that is, not fat. (I think, too, of the time my ex-roommate [whom I detested but to whom I had to be nice] saw me putting on running shoes and said, “Oh I didn’t figure you for a runner,” and the rage and shame I felt then, too.) Hence the shame, the resolve to punish myself more severely, to be better, to eat less, to do more.
This should sound familiar to most 20-something women in America, maybe even “most women in America,” period. We may now know enough to be ashamed of smoking and not working out, but we certainly aren’t any more comfortable with the space we occupy in the world. It seems we can never be small enough, never abstain enough, never put our bodies through enough. I speak from a woman’s perspective, but I know there are similar pressures on men. I wish I could fast-forward 100 years and see what cultural critics and historians will say about us. We might be defined as the Conundrum Generation: “Obsessed with consumption, and consuming insane amounts of resources every day, they nonetheless had an equally riveting obsession with lean bodies, regulation of food consumption, and regulation of exercise. The sheer array of goods manufactured to assist with and measure Conundrums’ running activity boggles the mind,” (says my imaginary future historian).
Or maybe not. After all, flappers don’t seem that far away in time from us, except they didn’t have texting so they had to be like, “Meet me in the hotel lobby at such-and-such a time” and write letters and such. And they also consumed unprecedented amounts and were obsessed with lean women, so maybe it’s something about the modern world/modernity. But we’ve always policed our bodies in various ways (corsets, anyone?) so I dunno. You tell me, folks.
