I Have Strangers in my In Box!
And I like it. Because some of them are nice. Very nice. That's one of my favorite things about blogger. You can have comments sent to your in box. How great is that? Of course, I discovered this awhile ago. But it never gets old. Not like the Nordstrom, Saks, and Neiman's ads (bankrupt, hello), the sales from every website under the sun or the messages from the WGA president (not working, hello). Because some of the comments are nice. Very nice. Did I mention that already?
See, I didn't grow up in the kind of family where people said "It will get better" or "You can do it." I grew up in a family where my dad told me I was fat and ugly the every other weekend visit that I saw him. And where my mother wanted me to go to junior college when I got into UCLA because she couldn't afford my tuition. So I got used to hearing the bad. Not that I always believed it. I mean, sure, I became anorexic to see if my dad would suddenly love me. But I'm very practical. When it didn't work, I started to eat. (Not that I didn't regress at times... still, it didn't work. Shocker.). And the not going to UCLA thing? Well, that's just silly. I mean, I had a 4.3 in high school. And had AP credits. It was right there on paper. And I'm practical. So I paid my way through. The ugly thing? Well. Hmmm. It doesn't matter how many times I look in the mirror. I still have no idea what I look like. Still, the truth is, I know it's not ugly. No matter how few men I date.
So this whole experience is foreign to me. This support. This crying in a good way. (Yes, if you've written me a supportive message, chances are I've cried). I've also cried lately from some of the great things my friends have said-- so I'm not discounting them. Not at all. But the sad thing is, it shouldn't be that difficult to recognize. That good makes you feel good and bad makes you feel bad. But sometimes that just happens. Sometimes it just works that way.
I haven't written on the blog in the last few days because I spent Thursday thru tonight with a woman who was training me for a freelance job. I flew to Oakland. And we drove to Fresno. Happily, I went to Fresno. (Hey, I haven't been anywhere in over a year and half. It felt like Paris to me). And during 5 hours round trip in a car, two single females can cover a lot of ground. And boy did we. Men and careers and families, oh my. And the crazy thing is, how people can be so different yet so the same. And how a stranger can make you see something in yourself and you can help them see something in themselves. And how easy it is when you're in one place in life to forget all the other places you've been. I mean, my family stuff-- I've covered that ground. I've conquered that mountain. And boy did I learn.
In my first blog entry, John left a comment (which incidentally gave me a near heart attack seeing it in my in box -- that it was from John-- the name of my ex), saying that I should be anonymous if my movie was similar to David Spade's. But the truth is, it was, but it wasn't. His: a washed up childhood star pays a family to give him a childhood so he can get a part in a movie. Mine: a single thirty year old woman whose life isn't working kidnaps the perfect family to be re-raised. Mine: Well, it was funny yet from the heart. His: ? I never saw it. But mine didn't sell. So there you go. Maybe it wasn't as funny as I thought. But I did learn from it. In fact, I had a crisis/nervous breakdown when I wrote it (again... another story for another day) because I didn't know what a good family was. Now at 37, I know. I also know that not having had one doesn't mean I won't. It also doesn't mean that I'm certain I'll fall in love with someone and they'll fall in love with me and I'll have a family. I just know that it's not impossible anymore. That I don't have some fatal flaw, some scarlet something or other that makes me not good enough for it.
Still, there's a lot to be said for good parenting, good friends, good comments and good luck. And the fact is, it does make it easier. A lot easier. And everyone should have it. Easier, that is. I've never been one of those people who felt better when people said to me, "Everyone's having a hard time right now." I mean, I don't want other people to have a hard time. I want everyone to be happy. Because really, what's the point of suffering when there's enough happiness to go around?
See, I didn't grow up in the kind of family where people said "It will get better" or "You can do it." I grew up in a family where my dad told me I was fat and ugly the every other weekend visit that I saw him. And where my mother wanted me to go to junior college when I got into UCLA because she couldn't afford my tuition. So I got used to hearing the bad. Not that I always believed it. I mean, sure, I became anorexic to see if my dad would suddenly love me. But I'm very practical. When it didn't work, I started to eat. (Not that I didn't regress at times... still, it didn't work. Shocker.). And the not going to UCLA thing? Well, that's just silly. I mean, I had a 4.3 in high school. And had AP credits. It was right there on paper. And I'm practical. So I paid my way through. The ugly thing? Well. Hmmm. It doesn't matter how many times I look in the mirror. I still have no idea what I look like. Still, the truth is, I know it's not ugly. No matter how few men I date.
So this whole experience is foreign to me. This support. This crying in a good way. (Yes, if you've written me a supportive message, chances are I've cried). I've also cried lately from some of the great things my friends have said-- so I'm not discounting them. Not at all. But the sad thing is, it shouldn't be that difficult to recognize. That good makes you feel good and bad makes you feel bad. But sometimes that just happens. Sometimes it just works that way.
I haven't written on the blog in the last few days because I spent Thursday thru tonight with a woman who was training me for a freelance job. I flew to Oakland. And we drove to Fresno. Happily, I went to Fresno. (Hey, I haven't been anywhere in over a year and half. It felt like Paris to me). And during 5 hours round trip in a car, two single females can cover a lot of ground. And boy did we. Men and careers and families, oh my. And the crazy thing is, how people can be so different yet so the same. And how a stranger can make you see something in yourself and you can help them see something in themselves. And how easy it is when you're in one place in life to forget all the other places you've been. I mean, my family stuff-- I've covered that ground. I've conquered that mountain. And boy did I learn.
In my first blog entry, John left a comment (which incidentally gave me a near heart attack seeing it in my in box -- that it was from John-- the name of my ex), saying that I should be anonymous if my movie was similar to David Spade's. But the truth is, it was, but it wasn't. His: a washed up childhood star pays a family to give him a childhood so he can get a part in a movie. Mine: a single thirty year old woman whose life isn't working kidnaps the perfect family to be re-raised. Mine: Well, it was funny yet from the heart. His: ? I never saw it. But mine didn't sell. So there you go. Maybe it wasn't as funny as I thought. But I did learn from it. In fact, I had a crisis/nervous breakdown when I wrote it (again... another story for another day) because I didn't know what a good family was. Now at 37, I know. I also know that not having had one doesn't mean I won't. It also doesn't mean that I'm certain I'll fall in love with someone and they'll fall in love with me and I'll have a family. I just know that it's not impossible anymore. That I don't have some fatal flaw, some scarlet something or other that makes me not good enough for it.
Still, there's a lot to be said for good parenting, good friends, good comments and good luck. And the fact is, it does make it easier. A lot easier. And everyone should have it. Easier, that is. I've never been one of those people who felt better when people said to me, "Everyone's having a hard time right now." I mean, I don't want other people to have a hard time. I want everyone to be happy. Because really, what's the point of suffering when there's enough happiness to go around?
posted by jodypwrites | 8:29 PM
1 Comments:
I misread the title of this post at first. At first glance it said simply, "I Have Strangers In My Box!"
And I thought it could be a sign that you were drinking way too much.
Reading closer I see the problem is not your bleariness but my blurry eyes. I'm glad about that.
If you were a cheerleader in high school, how fat and ugly could you have been? Maybe your father needs his eyesight checked too. But it sounds like he has much bigger problems than that.
I'm saddened but not surprised. In my days as a TV news reporter I once did a story about a woman who had given birth on the side of the road because she didn't make it to the hospital in time to deliver the child there.
We met her in the maternity ward the next day. She was a rural redneck unmarried to the man (or men) who had fathered any of her now six children.
Her baby girl was pink and perfect, pristine and unspoiled. I looked at her gray-toothed mother and wondered what lay ahead for this tiny new human she had borne.
I realized: We all come into the world perfect. Then our parents inevitably begin to screw us up.
The David Spade reference was supposed to be a joke. The fact that it didn't come across that way could be a sign of why neither one of us writes for a living right now!
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