Truth Tuesday: Charlie Chaplin and B.O.


Lessons learned o’holidays:  Don’t ever move houses over the holidays.

Have you seen me in the Daily 15 lately?  I look like a rat after a thunderstorm after a year of living off of ramen from 1983.  But, ya know what?  Fuck it.  I’m here to give you a good workout and the real deal, end of story.  And we're doing it, aren't we?  Without these workouts, I promise, I'd be wishing to be a soaked hungry rat.  I LOVE THIS SPACE.

Bigger lesson and all I have to say in this here blog today:  Don’t take yourself so seriously.  Just when you think it’ll be awesome to go down that road called My Life is Worse Than Yours, just remember that that statement only holds up probably in a 5-mile radius, even if it’s really really bad.  

On a side-but-related-note, I wrote a piece called The Serious Circus in my failed MFA attempt.  Oh, you didn’t know I went to get my MFA?  I did.  I went for one semester in Boston in January when my eldest was 5 - a two week residency type of deal - only to run smack into a ginormous blizzard the same day I found out I was pregnant, which was like on the first day I got there.  Which was also the day that I realized ALL of the winter clothes I had borrowed from a dear friend were trapped in some odd BO status not of my own.  I kept thinking everyone in Boston stunk like onions.  Until I smelled the coat.  And then, after the blizzard and after many adventures of walking through snow to the dry cleaners (it didn’t work, nothing worked), I had to go into workshops where they eat your heart and creative impulses out in minced “you suck” language.  The good news is that I walked into these wildly intense literary workshops carrying a 28-page fully cited research paper I had written in undergrad on Charlie Chaplin.  Talk about disaster.  As the lead heart eater, I mean professor, said, “I’ve never had to do this before, but we can’t and won’t workshop this in a normal way.”  Yes, I cried and had to tell everyone I was pregnant.  But I would have cried anyway.  Heart eaters.  

Anyhoozers, there is more to that story - like semesters more until I finally cried UNCLE MERCY MERCY ME and quit.  It’s ok.  I did write a wonderfully tragic trauma porn piece called The Serious Circus.  

The point of all the gibber jabber is that the biggest mistake you will ever make in your life and for your children is carrying a heavy heart that makes downtrodden look like a step up.  Don’t do it.  This does not mean you have to be cheery and fake and all positive psychology, it just means to carry a light heart in the darkness.  At least try.  You’ll find tiny glimmers of hilarity along the way, which I believe now in my most true knowing to be very important gifts from the universe.  Take them.  Use them.  Show them to your kiddos.  And then move on with eyes peeled for the next. 

You will need them in this simultaneously heavy and wondrous thing called life.