The Good Part Of Life

One can rewrite history pretty easily -- the loveliest man in the world becomes a jackass who exhibited sociopathic tendencies from the moment I knew him, a harmless way to blow off steam becomes a massive crippling addiction that nearly killed me and your old embarrassing cds become something your ex-boyfriend left behind. Let's face it -- the past holds a lot of sway, all those roles that we played and can't quite release. And so our tendency to glamorize or demonize those stretches of time depends on what we need; a marker of how far we've come or a sad reminder of how far we have fallen. As a child, I thought a lot of about killing time, desperate to rush to the good part of life. But time kills us, not the other way around, and like the mortician said of my dad's teeth after his plane crash, in death, they are perfectly preserved and can survive even the hottest fire. It's life that ruins them.

During pilates this morning (yes, I'm a douchebag, so be it), the instructor complimented me on my flexibility. She's a doll who always makes me smile by saying, You're doing awesome, ladies! when in fact, we are struggling to roll around with a giant ball in some approximation of a push-up. And I never tire of the flexibility compliment -- years as a gymnast has provided some reward! But more than that, I think it's the emotional quality that makes me the happiest; the way I've learned to be a little less rigid about certain things. Make no mistake -- I still have a way of holding a grudge, still try to kill time when I feel upset or stymied. But now the past, fluid as a rhythmic gymnast's ribbon, flows behind me and before me, and I think of it as something lovely and hopeful, part of the routine, but not the whole thing.

Michelle's Spell of the Day
"I was an escapee of childhood. I always wanted to grow up." Uma Thurman

Cocktail Hour
Drinking movie suggestion: Two Days In Paris

Benedictions and Maledictions
Happy Sunday!