I don't feel awkward anymore.
Thanks for reading.
-Jane
Oct 26, 2009
Aug 28, 2009
Bacon is a gateway meat
Before this blog dies of neglect, and because I started it in the midst of a food elimination diet, I figured I would document the reasons why, after 20 years as a vegetarian, I became an omnivore.
Reason #1: To keep evolving
My glib response to people when they ask why I started eating meat is, "because 20 years is long enough to do anything." What I mean is that I want a life where I continue to challenge myself, my beliefs, and my habits. I'm not going to live in the same place, have the same career, wear the same clothes or have the same haircut for more than 10 years at a time (probably), so why would I hold on to the same diet? My vegetarianism became habit without conviction. I no longer knew why I was doing it. And that meant it was time for a change.
Reason #2: To live by fewer arbitrary rules
For a number of years (some documented in this blog), I would create rules for myself to live by. Some of those rules have benefited me in a huge way (like "don't buy cheap shoes"), but others started limiting my movement. I became way too self-analytical, to the extent that my friends would notice and comment. Being a vegetarian started feeling like another rule that I applied to myself. I want to experience this life, and that extends to food as well. It's funny - now I feel like I have to go back to all the countries I've visited so that I can try their food since I missed it the first time.
Reason #3: To ease social interaction
If you are a vegetarian, then you've probably been in a restaurant with a group of friends who all look at the menu to find things that you can eat before they find something that they want to eat. I grew weary of having special accommodations made for me in social situations, of watching people rave about food that I could not eat, and of having people prepare food for me that they would not normally have prepared. My friends would probably argue this point, telling me it was no big deal, but I feel palpable relief now in those group settings, knowing that everyone can just get busy choosing their own food.
Reason #4: Because it's easier now to do it right
Unless you lived with hippies, it was tough to eat consciously and humanely in suburban Toronto in the late 80s. Even vegetarianism was a challenge for the first few years, as words like "tofu" and "plant-based proteins" were not a common part of our vernacular. It got easier as the years went by and I learned how to stave off anemia and eat a more balanced diet.
While I learned about a good vegetarian diet, I also learned about how animals were treated in the production of meat. It was too much to handle, and everything I read solidified my stance about not eating animals. Organic, free-range meat was barely available, and I felt like eating anything else would make me an accomplice to murder.
But now I live in a place where even the most ghetto grocery store carries organic, free-range chicken and beef. It doesn't take much effort to be conscious and deliberate about what I consume. I'm still very aware that I'm consuming an animal, but I no longer feel like I should go to jail for it.
Frequently Asked Questions
Q: What was the first meat you tried?
A: Bacon.
Q: Do you feel better? (Usually asked by meat-eaters who assume that all vegetarians feel weak.)
A: No, I feel the same.
Q: Did you get sick when you started eating meat? (Usually asked by vegetarians.)
A: No.
Q: But your blood type is A+, so doesn't that mean you *should* be a vegetarian?
A: It's a theory, and I still eat more veggie meals than meat meals, but it sounds to me like another rule and I don't want more rules.
Q: Are there meats you still won't eat?
A: Yes. Pretty much any animal featured on Cute Overload. I can't go there yet, but I'm not ruling it out. This includes rabbit and baby anything. Also, I don't like the texture of hamburger.
Q: Bacon is awesome, isn't it?
A: Yes, bacon is awesome.
Reason #1: To keep evolving
My glib response to people when they ask why I started eating meat is, "because 20 years is long enough to do anything." What I mean is that I want a life where I continue to challenge myself, my beliefs, and my habits. I'm not going to live in the same place, have the same career, wear the same clothes or have the same haircut for more than 10 years at a time (probably), so why would I hold on to the same diet? My vegetarianism became habit without conviction. I no longer knew why I was doing it. And that meant it was time for a change.
Reason #2: To live by fewer arbitrary rules
For a number of years (some documented in this blog), I would create rules for myself to live by. Some of those rules have benefited me in a huge way (like "don't buy cheap shoes"), but others started limiting my movement. I became way too self-analytical, to the extent that my friends would notice and comment. Being a vegetarian started feeling like another rule that I applied to myself. I want to experience this life, and that extends to food as well. It's funny - now I feel like I have to go back to all the countries I've visited so that I can try their food since I missed it the first time.
Reason #3: To ease social interaction
If you are a vegetarian, then you've probably been in a restaurant with a group of friends who all look at the menu to find things that you can eat before they find something that they want to eat. I grew weary of having special accommodations made for me in social situations, of watching people rave about food that I could not eat, and of having people prepare food for me that they would not normally have prepared. My friends would probably argue this point, telling me it was no big deal, but I feel palpable relief now in those group settings, knowing that everyone can just get busy choosing their own food.
Reason #4: Because it's easier now to do it right
Unless you lived with hippies, it was tough to eat consciously and humanely in suburban Toronto in the late 80s. Even vegetarianism was a challenge for the first few years, as words like "tofu" and "plant-based proteins" were not a common part of our vernacular. It got easier as the years went by and I learned how to stave off anemia and eat a more balanced diet.
While I learned about a good vegetarian diet, I also learned about how animals were treated in the production of meat. It was too much to handle, and everything I read solidified my stance about not eating animals. Organic, free-range meat was barely available, and I felt like eating anything else would make me an accomplice to murder.
But now I live in a place where even the most ghetto grocery store carries organic, free-range chicken and beef. It doesn't take much effort to be conscious and deliberate about what I consume. I'm still very aware that I'm consuming an animal, but I no longer feel like I should go to jail for it.
Frequently Asked Questions
Q: What was the first meat you tried?
A: Bacon.
Q: Do you feel better? (Usually asked by meat-eaters who assume that all vegetarians feel weak.)
A: No, I feel the same.
Q: Did you get sick when you started eating meat? (Usually asked by vegetarians.)
A: No.
Q: But your blood type is A+, so doesn't that mean you *should* be a vegetarian?
A: It's a theory, and I still eat more veggie meals than meat meals, but it sounds to me like another rule and I don't want more rules.
Q: Are there meats you still won't eat?
A: Yes. Pretty much any animal featured on Cute Overload. I can't go there yet, but I'm not ruling it out. This includes rabbit and baby anything. Also, I don't like the texture of hamburger.
Q: Bacon is awesome, isn't it?
A: Yes, bacon is awesome.
May 4, 2009
Class Is Cancelled
My high school was brand new. I was in the first batch of students to attend, and in the first batch of students to graduate. My time there was a blast, I made great friends, and I was heavily involved with the music and theater programs. We were giddy to attend that school, believing we were creating something new and big, setting traditions that would be followed by many students after us.
But if there are no traditions before you and you're only 16, how can you possibly know what will be important down the road? Ten years after graduation, a few of us called each other. "Shouldn't we be having some kind of reunion? Isn't that what people do?" But it didn't happen. There was no reunion tradition at the school, no support in place to make it work, and no suggestion that members of the student council even keep in touch with each other after graduation.
A couple of years later, in frustration, I attempted to organize a class reunion myself. This was still before social networking really took off, so it was a bitch to find people. The school was absolutely no help, refusing to assist with locating former students. I think 15 people showed up to the event. Seven years after that our 20 year anniversary came along. Someone tried to plan an event, and it fizzled out. The day came and went. I washed my hands of the place.
Meanwhile, college. I attended a small but unique school in Santa Fe, NM. In addition to a vibrant theater program, we had a working sound stage. Blockbuster movies, music videos, and commercials were filmed there, and students were hired to work on the productions. While my degree was in business, I worked for the film school for years, and those students became my peers. There were no formal sports programs, no homecoming events, no frats or sororities. But that isn't why any of us attended that school--we knew we would have a strange and good experience there. The community was tight. We even managed a couple of reunions (in Los Angeles, naturally).
In two weeks, my college will close down. In two weeks, the institution that granted me my degree will no longer exist. It's a long and sad story of massive debt and inept leadership, resulting in immense frustration by excellent and beleaguered faculty members. The students have to go somewhere else to finish their degrees. The staff is already gone. The faculty is working for pennies.
I've written a lot about how we define ourselves and where we find community. School is a huge one, though its importance varies widely by person. I'm still in touch with the handful of high school classmates that I care to be in touch with, but the rest, meh. However, I do like knowing that the school is still *there,* that when I go back home to visit I can drive by, point, and remember. Some of my old classmates are now teachers at that school, and that gives me strange comfort. The cycle continues. It frustrated me for a long time that we didn't have a formalized way to remember each other, but Facebook has pretty much replaced that.
It isn't the case for the college. To watch your school implode, especially if you still have connections there (a good friend is a faculty member), is disheartening on many levels. My degree is still valid, but the persona of the degree (the persona - does that make sense?) is tainted. Now when my friend and I talk about college, we use the same language as we do for someone who has died.
I used to regret not attending a huge school with its football games and sweatshirts. For years I retroactively longed for the traditional college experience, which I knew I would never have. I got as comfortable as I could be with the experience that I did have, but in a flash that school won't even exist anymore. First high school, then college. It's like the universe is canceling nostalgia, propelling me into the future whether I like it or not. It feels like my pre-40 theme. The past is gone. Thou shalt move forward.
But if there are no traditions before you and you're only 16, how can you possibly know what will be important down the road? Ten years after graduation, a few of us called each other. "Shouldn't we be having some kind of reunion? Isn't that what people do?" But it didn't happen. There was no reunion tradition at the school, no support in place to make it work, and no suggestion that members of the student council even keep in touch with each other after graduation.
A couple of years later, in frustration, I attempted to organize a class reunion myself. This was still before social networking really took off, so it was a bitch to find people. The school was absolutely no help, refusing to assist with locating former students. I think 15 people showed up to the event. Seven years after that our 20 year anniversary came along. Someone tried to plan an event, and it fizzled out. The day came and went. I washed my hands of the place.
Meanwhile, college. I attended a small but unique school in Santa Fe, NM. In addition to a vibrant theater program, we had a working sound stage. Blockbuster movies, music videos, and commercials were filmed there, and students were hired to work on the productions. While my degree was in business, I worked for the film school for years, and those students became my peers. There were no formal sports programs, no homecoming events, no frats or sororities. But that isn't why any of us attended that school--we knew we would have a strange and good experience there. The community was tight. We even managed a couple of reunions (in Los Angeles, naturally).
In two weeks, my college will close down. In two weeks, the institution that granted me my degree will no longer exist. It's a long and sad story of massive debt and inept leadership, resulting in immense frustration by excellent and beleaguered faculty members. The students have to go somewhere else to finish their degrees. The staff is already gone. The faculty is working for pennies.
I've written a lot about how we define ourselves and where we find community. School is a huge one, though its importance varies widely by person. I'm still in touch with the handful of high school classmates that I care to be in touch with, but the rest, meh. However, I do like knowing that the school is still *there,* that when I go back home to visit I can drive by, point, and remember. Some of my old classmates are now teachers at that school, and that gives me strange comfort. The cycle continues. It frustrated me for a long time that we didn't have a formalized way to remember each other, but Facebook has pretty much replaced that.
It isn't the case for the college. To watch your school implode, especially if you still have connections there (a good friend is a faculty member), is disheartening on many levels. My degree is still valid, but the persona of the degree (the persona - does that make sense?) is tainted. Now when my friend and I talk about college, we use the same language as we do for someone who has died.
I used to regret not attending a huge school with its football games and sweatshirts. For years I retroactively longed for the traditional college experience, which I knew I would never have. I got as comfortable as I could be with the experience that I did have, but in a flash that school won't even exist anymore. First high school, then college. It's like the universe is canceling nostalgia, propelling me into the future whether I like it or not. It feels like my pre-40 theme. The past is gone. Thou shalt move forward.
Apr 28, 2009
Open Here I Flung the Shutter
So apparently I go through phases, and I've been going through these phases since I was a teenager. I'll be rolling along with everything going just dandy, then some uncomfortable feeling will make its presence known at the back of my head. I'll try to ignore it or pour wine on it or show it a movie, but it will grow nonetheless. Eventually I'll have to spin around and look at it, facing its demands. It demands a change of pace.
When I was 17 I called this an "existential crisis." I have clear high school memories of barricading myself in music practice rooms explaining to my friends and teachers that my brain was exploding. Well, no. It was never exploding. I just needed to tweak a few things in my life, and I wasn't quite sure what those things were yet.
This decade's version of the existential crisis is called "media overload," so with some regularity I wipe the slate clean, or at least significantly curb my exposure to and consumption of media. It starts with feeling overexposed on the Internet and ends in a Pop Culture Cycle of Shame.
Whenever I feel regret for not accomplishing something I believed I should have accomplished, I remind myself that it must not have been important enough to me at the time to pursue. For the past few weeks I've been going to work feeling like I *could* do a lot more, but that I just don't want to. I'm feeling less connected to my professional community; I don't have the motivation to network, to trade ideas, to create with them. Instead, I feel like distancing myself, and THAT makes me feel like a boring old lady.
While I did go through my usual routine of unsubscribing from a zillion email newsletters and further restricting my social networking accessibility, this round feels different.
This time I feel like something is waiting for me. A decision. A new course. A new professional community. Hunting for it feels weird and wrong, so I'm going to stay open and quiet and wait for it to flag me down. I expect it will take the better part of a year, at which time, not coincidentally at all, I will turn 40. Something is out there, but this time it isn't coming from inside the house. It's still far away, like a slowly approaching storm.
When I was 17 I called this an "existential crisis." I have clear high school memories of barricading myself in music practice rooms explaining to my friends and teachers that my brain was exploding. Well, no. It was never exploding. I just needed to tweak a few things in my life, and I wasn't quite sure what those things were yet.
This decade's version of the existential crisis is called "media overload," so with some regularity I wipe the slate clean, or at least significantly curb my exposure to and consumption of media. It starts with feeling overexposed on the Internet and ends in a Pop Culture Cycle of Shame.
Whenever I feel regret for not accomplishing something I believed I should have accomplished, I remind myself that it must not have been important enough to me at the time to pursue. For the past few weeks I've been going to work feeling like I *could* do a lot more, but that I just don't want to. I'm feeling less connected to my professional community; I don't have the motivation to network, to trade ideas, to create with them. Instead, I feel like distancing myself, and THAT makes me feel like a boring old lady.
While I did go through my usual routine of unsubscribing from a zillion email newsletters and further restricting my social networking accessibility, this round feels different.
This time I feel like something is waiting for me. A decision. A new course. A new professional community. Hunting for it feels weird and wrong, so I'm going to stay open and quiet and wait for it to flag me down. I expect it will take the better part of a year, at which time, not coincidentally at all, I will turn 40. Something is out there, but this time it isn't coming from inside the house. It's still far away, like a slowly approaching storm.
Apr 15, 2009
It's the Little Things
I've now spent enough time being either mildly irritated or massively inconvenienced by my own lifestyle that I'm paying more attention to little things that can make it better. You know when you make a small improvement in your life that makes a huge difference? And the improvement took less than two minutes or not very much money? You always wonder why it took you so long to get around to doing it. I'd like to get around to those things more quickly.
Some free and fast examples:
- The fluorescent light in my bathroom bothered me for TWO YEARS until one day I took exactly 60 SECONDS to grab a stepladder and remove them from the fixture.
- Working on my laptop at my kitchen counter I experienced odd neck issues until I walked three feet away, picked up two about-to-be-discarded phone books, and elevated the laptop.
- The small snack packs that I buy were scattered all over my kitchen or bursting out of the cupboard. I took an empty flower pot, placed it on the kitchen counter, and gathered all the snacks there.
Seriously, these solutions seem brain-dead easy, but for some reason they took forever for me to implement. And every single one was free and took less than two minutes. The ones that cost a bit of money made an even larger impact on the quality of my life:
- After leaving my laptop power cord at home a handful of times, which made me completely change my day around, I finally bought a second power charger and mouse that never leave my bag.
- My toaster oven was taking its own sweet time actually toasting anything, and I let myself be annoyed for a good six months. I finally replaced it with something that works.
- I dislike grocery shopping, so I rarely did it, which actually put me at the store MORE frequently. I started using one of the online grocery shopping websites, and now I finish shopping in ten minutes and the order is delivered to my door.
This is the whole "right tool, right time" concept that I'm slowly getting the hang of. I can only conclude that I allowed myself to be inconvenienced like this because at some level I thought I didn't deserve better. But the pleasure I get from these improvements is so great that now I'm searching for more. More! Especially if they are free!
I know there are sites out there like lifehacker.com for these types of fixes, but I'm just not going to spend a weekend making a supercable or a DIY bike rack. I like the easy ones. If you've made some of these improvements in your own life, I'd love to hear them.
Some free and fast examples:
- The fluorescent light in my bathroom bothered me for TWO YEARS until one day I took exactly 60 SECONDS to grab a stepladder and remove them from the fixture.
- Working on my laptop at my kitchen counter I experienced odd neck issues until I walked three feet away, picked up two about-to-be-discarded phone books, and elevated the laptop.
- The small snack packs that I buy were scattered all over my kitchen or bursting out of the cupboard. I took an empty flower pot, placed it on the kitchen counter, and gathered all the snacks there.
Seriously, these solutions seem brain-dead easy, but for some reason they took forever for me to implement. And every single one was free and took less than two minutes. The ones that cost a bit of money made an even larger impact on the quality of my life:
- After leaving my laptop power cord at home a handful of times, which made me completely change my day around, I finally bought a second power charger and mouse that never leave my bag.
- My toaster oven was taking its own sweet time actually toasting anything, and I let myself be annoyed for a good six months. I finally replaced it with something that works.
- I dislike grocery shopping, so I rarely did it, which actually put me at the store MORE frequently. I started using one of the online grocery shopping websites, and now I finish shopping in ten minutes and the order is delivered to my door.
This is the whole "right tool, right time" concept that I'm slowly getting the hang of. I can only conclude that I allowed myself to be inconvenienced like this because at some level I thought I didn't deserve better. But the pleasure I get from these improvements is so great that now I'm searching for more. More! Especially if they are free!
I know there are sites out there like lifehacker.com for these types of fixes, but I'm just not going to spend a weekend making a supercable or a DIY bike rack. I like the easy ones. If you've made some of these improvements in your own life, I'd love to hear them.
Apr 10, 2009
Farewell, Negative Nelly
Once upon a time I worked as the house manager of a small theater. Every night I ran around calling times, getting the cast ready, and prepping the lobby for the audience to enter. Tim, the box office guy, sold tickets at the window that faced the street.
Our show had a hard start time, and 95% of the audience arrived with plenty of time to spare. But every night there was invariably a group of people that would arrive either at or as many as 15 minutes after the start of the show. This bothered me. "Can we still buy tickets?" they would gasp as they ran up to the window or pounded on the door. My instinct, every single time, was to say, "No - you've already missed the start of the show and you'll distract everyone by entering the theater late. Try again tomorrow."
Tim, however, was totally gracious. "You're right on time," he would say, "they're just getting started." At first it drove me bonkers, but eventually I understood all of the things that Tim accomplished in that moment:
- He put the anxious audience members at ease
- He let them feel good about their choice to come to the show
- He allowed them to have the experience they intended to have
- He got money for the theater
That story has become a personal benchmark for my Negative Nelly tendencies. I notice that in many situations, my first response is NO. This attitude can permeate everything, veiling my world in a dull, patchy cloak. I meet someone new, and the first thing I report about them is that they mumble. I read an article online, and I pick out each typo.
Lately I've been experimenting with ways to retire Negative Nelly, and I think it's having an effect. A few weeks ago I prepared for a meeting that I expected to be antagonistic. Some colleagues wanted me to take on a massive project that I felt was their responsibility, and I was not looking forward to the fight. But instead of putting on my scowly face, I imagined that the word YES was imprinted across my heart. Abstract, yes, but you know what? It worked. Even though I still argued my point, I came at it with the intent to collaborate, not block. It was a great meeting.
I feel that as I get older, it's my responsibility to be more gracious to other people. I'm not sure why I feel this. Maybe it's a sign of a stabilizing ego, more confidence, or simply a desire to grow into the person I'd like to be. It's as if Nelly represents the insecure control freak in me, and I don't feel so much allegiance to that persona anymore.
There is more work to be done in this department, especially when I spend a lot of time in the snarky world of Internet media. But this effort is worth it. I know that my positive energy can affect other people, and it feels good to get that positive energy back. I'll leave Nelly to the pissed off teenagers who need her.
Our show had a hard start time, and 95% of the audience arrived with plenty of time to spare. But every night there was invariably a group of people that would arrive either at or as many as 15 minutes after the start of the show. This bothered me. "Can we still buy tickets?" they would gasp as they ran up to the window or pounded on the door. My instinct, every single time, was to say, "No - you've already missed the start of the show and you'll distract everyone by entering the theater late. Try again tomorrow."
Tim, however, was totally gracious. "You're right on time," he would say, "they're just getting started." At first it drove me bonkers, but eventually I understood all of the things that Tim accomplished in that moment:
- He put the anxious audience members at ease
- He let them feel good about their choice to come to the show
- He allowed them to have the experience they intended to have
- He got money for the theater
That story has become a personal benchmark for my Negative Nelly tendencies. I notice that in many situations, my first response is NO. This attitude can permeate everything, veiling my world in a dull, patchy cloak. I meet someone new, and the first thing I report about them is that they mumble. I read an article online, and I pick out each typo.
Lately I've been experimenting with ways to retire Negative Nelly, and I think it's having an effect. A few weeks ago I prepared for a meeting that I expected to be antagonistic. Some colleagues wanted me to take on a massive project that I felt was their responsibility, and I was not looking forward to the fight. But instead of putting on my scowly face, I imagined that the word YES was imprinted across my heart. Abstract, yes, but you know what? It worked. Even though I still argued my point, I came at it with the intent to collaborate, not block. It was a great meeting.
I feel that as I get older, it's my responsibility to be more gracious to other people. I'm not sure why I feel this. Maybe it's a sign of a stabilizing ego, more confidence, or simply a desire to grow into the person I'd like to be. It's as if Nelly represents the insecure control freak in me, and I don't feel so much allegiance to that persona anymore.
There is more work to be done in this department, especially when I spend a lot of time in the snarky world of Internet media. But this effort is worth it. I know that my positive energy can affect other people, and it feels good to get that positive energy back. I'll leave Nelly to the pissed off teenagers who need her.
Mar 29, 2009
Are You Still the Same Person?
Last night at a show I ran into a gal I hadn't seen in close to six years. I don't even remember how she and I first met, but I recall that our attempt at friendship was a bit uneasy. We fell out of touch gradually, and neither of us made an effort to continue knowing each other. These things happen--people float in and out of our lives.
When she recognized me and said hello, standing in a busy part of the club where people jostled me as they squeezed by, it took me a second to recognize her. Then I got it. "Tracy! Wow! How are you?" She said she was doing great and gave me a quick update. Her turn: "So Jane - are you still living near the park? Are you still cycling? Are you still friends with Lisa and Ann? Are you playing any sports? Are you still involved with the film festival?" Me: "No, No, No, No, No."
I told her that my life was different now. Really different. Tracy had this weird look on her face--a combination of disappointment and shock. She kept turning to her friend and saying stuff like, "Jane was really hardcore - she would cycle from downtown all the way up to her house every day." I probably did that four times, total. I was involved with the film festival exactly once, and I never played sports. Tracy had formed an inaccurate image of me in her mind and had held on to it for years.
This in itself isn't such a huge deal. We all form ideas of who other people are, and those ideas become part of our reality. Tracy was comforted in some way by believing that I was a suburban-dwelling, film-festival-going cyclist, and when I told her that none of it was true anymore, her reality suffered a tiny rip. It will stay ripped until she decides to accept the present.
I think that those of us who have been through significant life changes, especially if they are changes of our own creation, are more likely to over-accept sudden new states of being in people we know. Oh, you quit your job and went back to school? Great! You sit at home and play Xbox all day? Fine! You're a girl now? Okeydokey! While there are pitfalls to that approach (we don't ask WHY it's ok to sit on your ass all day with the Xbox), I prefer it to Tracy's shrine of the past.
Tracy reminded me of a bunch of old stuff I didn't want to be reminded of. Even though her memory of details from my previous life was impressive, I didn't want to talk about them. In fact, I couldn't get away from her fast enough. Sometimes, dredging up the past with another person causes more pain than nostalgia.
I'm handling these types of situations a little better these days, but I still find it hard to remember to give myself good PR. Did I have to tell Tracy that Lisa and Ann dumped me as a friend? No, I could have just said that we haven't talked in a long time. Instead of being on the defensive with her, explaining the loss of each aspect of my life, I could have simply told her that I made some big and positive changes. Because that's the best trump card there is: "My life is different now, and I'm happy."
When she recognized me and said hello, standing in a busy part of the club where people jostled me as they squeezed by, it took me a second to recognize her. Then I got it. "Tracy! Wow! How are you?" She said she was doing great and gave me a quick update. Her turn: "So Jane - are you still living near the park? Are you still cycling? Are you still friends with Lisa and Ann? Are you playing any sports? Are you still involved with the film festival?" Me: "No, No, No, No, No."
I told her that my life was different now. Really different. Tracy had this weird look on her face--a combination of disappointment and shock. She kept turning to her friend and saying stuff like, "Jane was really hardcore - she would cycle from downtown all the way up to her house every day." I probably did that four times, total. I was involved with the film festival exactly once, and I never played sports. Tracy had formed an inaccurate image of me in her mind and had held on to it for years.
This in itself isn't such a huge deal. We all form ideas of who other people are, and those ideas become part of our reality. Tracy was comforted in some way by believing that I was a suburban-dwelling, film-festival-going cyclist, and when I told her that none of it was true anymore, her reality suffered a tiny rip. It will stay ripped until she decides to accept the present.
I think that those of us who have been through significant life changes, especially if they are changes of our own creation, are more likely to over-accept sudden new states of being in people we know. Oh, you quit your job and went back to school? Great! You sit at home and play Xbox all day? Fine! You're a girl now? Okeydokey! While there are pitfalls to that approach (we don't ask WHY it's ok to sit on your ass all day with the Xbox), I prefer it to Tracy's shrine of the past.
Tracy reminded me of a bunch of old stuff I didn't want to be reminded of. Even though her memory of details from my previous life was impressive, I didn't want to talk about them. In fact, I couldn't get away from her fast enough. Sometimes, dredging up the past with another person causes more pain than nostalgia.
I'm handling these types of situations a little better these days, but I still find it hard to remember to give myself good PR. Did I have to tell Tracy that Lisa and Ann dumped me as a friend? No, I could have just said that we haven't talked in a long time. Instead of being on the defensive with her, explaining the loss of each aspect of my life, I could have simply told her that I made some big and positive changes. Because that's the best trump card there is: "My life is different now, and I'm happy."
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