Posts tagged "aunttracy"

“Do you believe in UFOs, astral projections, mental telepathy, ESP, clairvoyance, spirit photography, telekinetic movement, full trance mediums, the Loch Ness monster and the theory of Atlantis?”

It was a dinner party for my mother's birthday at my Aunt Tracy's. My Aunt Tracy is not really my aunt. She is not related by blood or marriage, but instead some 30-odd years of history and stories, first with my father, then with my mother as well. Tracy is kind and generous as well as loud and overbearing, which makes for an interesting circle of friends. We sat on the back patio, a mismatched lot with my family and Tracy's friends and neighbors who had been invited to the event. Among them were a couple that had just returned from living in New Zealand. They talked about the beauty of that place and the good nature of it's people. Living there was so different, they said. I couldn't imagine how New Zealand, what I think of as an essentially westernized country, could be so different from how I live. The man pointed out that there were no driers, so if you had to do laundry, and it was going to rain, you were out of luck. However, he always knew when it was going to rain, so they would just not hang out clothes on that day.

“How did you know?”

Tracy cut in as she cleared the plates. “Henry's a psychic.”

“I prefer to think of myself as an spiritual healer.” he said graciously, speaking softly in a strange Southern-cum-New-Zealander accent.

I nodded politely, chuckling to myself in my head. I couldn't understand most of what he said anyway and had to strain to hear. I decided I was better off. He was surely off his rocker somehow, not an uncommon theme with Tracy's friends. I mean, c'mon, she's friends with my dad. I could certainly humor this man long enough to make it through the evening.

The party progressed as every party I had ever been to with my parents progressed. My father played guitar through the light conversation. The adults gradually got more and more buzzed off of imported beer and margaritas. I smiled politely and choose words carefully when explaining what, exactly, it is that I am doing with my life—mainly, at this current juncture, being an IT professional, a web developer. And then, of course, I am always at some point asked to sing.

I ran through a couple of my standards with my father accompanying me. I received the usual accolades, and then Henry, our psychic, launched into his ‘predictions’.

“You know, I really see you becoming involved in music. Performing, on the stage, as your living.”

“Thank you, but I really have no interest in performing. My sister's the performer. I am interested in opening a record store someday—” I said obligingly, “—maybe that's what you're picking up on?”

“No, I definitely see you performing. You certainly have the gift for it.”

“Well I appreciate your compliments, but I have no plans to pursue a career in music.”

“You just wait and see. It'll happen. You're just going to fall into it.”

I was more annoyed than anything else by this. I do not believe in fate, because I believe a man should be able to make his own future, to be in charge of it. The abstract idea of destiny has always irked me, because I see many people take this idea and use it as an excuse to not make proactive change in their own lives while they wait for something to happen to them. I like believing that the only force in control of my future is me.

I just smiled at him, not acknowledging that last comment one way or another, and looked to someone to change the subject.

The evening wore on, and soon, it was time for guests to say their goodbyes. My mother and I sat at the table as Henry and his wife stood and waved, saying how-nice-it-was-to-meet-yous and we-should-do-this-agains. I was sitting at the end of the table nearest to the door, and as Henry walked past me he placed a heavy hand on my shoulder. I looked up at him.

“I just want to share one thing with you before I go.”

I grinned cheerily. “Of course.”

He looked into my eyes and spoke slowly, dreamily. “You just need to learn to love yourself. Once you do that, the weight will just melt away.”

I stared at him, dumbfounded. He waved at my mother, said goodnight, and walked out.

I was floored. “I really, really don't like him.” I said to my mother.

“Why?” She was absolutely incredulous. I was furious.

“Who the hell does he think he is, saying things like that to people he barely knows?”

My mother didn't understand, she thought I was being too sensitive about being called out on my extra baggage. But that wasn't it.

The reason that I can still remember this all so clearly, the reason this particular incident is still haunting me six months later, is because that ‘healer’, that ‘psychic’, struck a very sensitive nerve within my heart of hearts. It felt like being naked in a room of strangers, the truth of my real inner life, which I share with almost no one, revealed and let out for air.

One of the great ironies of my own life is the deep schism between my overabundance of confidence and my complete lack of self-esteem. It's a bit defiant of simple logic. One would think these things would not be able to exist together, but all you have to do is be a good enough actress to fool even yourself.

This incident has been played over and over in my head for the past months every time I think about how badly I want to loose weight. I finally realized some days ago that the reason that comment struck such a chord with me is this: every time I'm seriously thought about doing something, about making some sort of drastic change, it's never been for me. It's never been because I want to be healthier, or fit into smaller sizes, or have more energy. The reason I cannot maintain ANY momentum is because the effort feels empty of worth. I've always wanted to change for everyone else; to raise my social worth, to be more attractive to friends, jobs, men. This leads to the problem with feeling inherently worthless, an empty investment, therefore, not worth my time and effort to salvage.

Look at the words I use. I already think of myself as a salvage job, as damaged goods.

The only way I can make a change is decide that I'm actually worth changing for. And that starts with believing the things the people I love say about me, and to stop undermining my own value to myself in the lonely hours of the night when I'm off stage, out of my confidence-costume. When I can make a change for myself, solely because I want to make myself happy, I've got to believe that at that point I will be able to. And I'm actively working on getting to that point.

As much as I hate to say it, Henry was right.

Does this mean I also should be trying to get a band together?

Jenna's House of Idiosyncrasies Version 10.0 [Focus.]

“Do you believe in UFOs, astral projections, mental telepathy, ESP, clairvoyance, spirit photography, telekinetic movement ...

"It's a car, meets a board game... from the seventies"