Nobody Knows Anything

In my presentation on risk, I have a slide called Nobody Knows Anything. I don’t mean this in a general sense, as lots of people know lots of things, but I mean it when forecasting failure or success. No publisher knew that Harry Potter would be the smash hit of the century. No scientist knows that his or her discover will be the next big thing in the field. Most artists die long before their work becomes popular and desirable by the masses.

A big part of the human experience is trial and error. This really sucks for the control freaks among us (including me). The goal when creating anything new is to allow it to exist without expecting so much from it. That sentence feels so light and easy to type and yet living it out remains a real bitch.

Nobody knows anything, so we should hold lightly to our ideas. I’m in a fourth year fiction writing workshop this semester where we offer feedback on each other’s short stories. It can be so hard to hear criticism, especially when the work is brand new and as its creator you aren’t even sure what it is yet. So often I dream of turning in a story and having a reader or my prof say, “Wow, this is perfect in every way. Don’t change a word. Magazines will be lining up to publish this brilliant piece of writing.” (Spoiler Alert: this NEVER happens.)

The key is not to base our sense of self-worth on any outside source. Ever. Praise comes and goes, just like criticism, and our sense of internal value should not rise and fall with people’s opinions. Confidence is always an inside job. I know this to be true, deep in my soul, and yet so often I become dragged down or obsessive about other people’s views, mistaking them for facts when they are only opinions.

Holding loosely is one of the great markers of happiness. Usually our pain comes from daydreaming about how a situation or a relationship is going to spool out. We imagine a certain outcome, and then when it doesn’t work out we feel betrayed, devastated, robbed. And yet the narrative we constructed was only in our own head. It was never real or guaranteed.

I am ridiculously guilty of this. Even though I know better, and have for years, I still daydream situations that have zero chance of occurring. Why do I do this? Likely because it feels good. It gives me a sense of control over life that in reality I simply do not possess. Why is it such a damn challenge to let life unfold the way it’s meant to and adapt to what actually happens instead of what I think will happen?

It does help to remember that nobody knows anything when it comes to predicting what most people like or don’t like. We have to trust in ourselves for the work we are doing. We have to hope it will translate to others and mean something to people beyond ourselves. Receiving critical feedback that is kind and helps to shape the work is beneficial, but a lot of what people say is not helpful and harms the initial risk we are courageous enough to take.

As Theodore Roosevelt reminds us in shortened form and with updated inclusive language, “It’s not the critic who counts, (but) the credit belongs to the (person) in the arena.” If nobody knows anything about what will ultimately fail and what will succeed, then the creator is the one who should believe in their work for as long as possible, without inviting other people to weigh in too early in the process.

My Tummy’s Name is Doris

My Tummy’s Name is Doris

I named my tummy Doris to personalize her. It’s harder to dislike someone with a name and a personality. Now, when I wake up in the morning, I say, “Hello, Doris” and it helps me to treat her gently and with more respect.

I’m utterly fed up and discouraged by our culture’s obsession with thin, perfect bodies for women. Men are not under the same pressure to look sleek, elegant, stylish and fit. Sure, many men would prefer six-pack abs, but I’ve never heard a man referred to as “plus-sized”, yet women have to endure this label all the damn time.

No societal change happens quickly. It’s a twenty year process, at minimum, but we can choose not to play our role in it anymore. No outside pressure can make us feel bad about ourselves. We have to opt in for that to work. As Amy Schumer famously said, “I say if I’m beautiful. I say if I’m strong. You will not determine my story – I will.”

I’m exhausted worrying about how Doris will look in a swimsuit or a new pair of jeans. There are much bigger things to be concerned about in this life. I’m longing to opt out of tying my weight and appearance to my sense of self-worth. But there’s no point in yearning for this. Now is the time to decide to let this nonsense go and carry on by saying if I’m beautiful and if I’m strong.

Doris is still sore from my appendix surgery this summer. The three laparoscopy sites are mildly tender to the touch, five months later, and I feel like the work I did before surgery with weights and sit-ups has been undone. I want now to simply accept my body as it is. To stop wishing it was like someone else’s. To thank it for carrying me around in this world and to look after it and love it with kindness instead of shame.

As women, we have impossible beauty standards all around. I rebel against the idea that I’m supposed to be made up and pretty when I’m out and about. I’ve been leaving my face free of makeup and going into stores in a ponytail and yoga pants and trying to make it a radical act. But this only works if I truly believe I’m allowed to do this. Some days I feel strong and sure on this, and other days I look around at the women who are made up and look stunning and then I feel insecure and silly.

Perhaps this type of growth is a slow process. I loved it when Alicia Keys talked about not wanting to cover up anymore. Something in me rose up and shouted, “Yes! Me too!” It’s brave to show up as we really are instead of hiding. Occasionally it feels too radical, too unsafe, so I retreat behind my desire to conform and work harder at being pretty and acceptable.

Is it okay to want to be pretty just for ourselves? And is it okay not to want to be pretty? To just go into the world as a man would do, without applying makeup and blow-drying hair and dressing up to go buy fruit and milk?

For now, I’m working on talking myself off the ledge with a series of affirmations. I greet Doris each day and tell her I love her, just as she is, round and soft and ample. I say, “You are okay. You are worthy of care and affection. You don’t have to look like a starving model to be beautiful.”

I wish I didn’t have to try so hard to offer myself permission to look the way I look. I’d rather not aspire to a concept of beauty that is unattainable to most. I enjoy food too much and the gym too little to make that level of sacrifice so I’ll have a flat stomach and shapely limbs. At the age of 44, it’s not likely to happen, especially since I’ve had this same basic body type since I was a teenager.

Now the key is to accept myself and to opt out of the madness that is the beauty and fashion industry. I don’t have to believe I’m less-than. It’s counter-culture enough to love myself (and Doris) with a radical sense of care and kindness, no matter what size I am. Who’s with me?