The Beautiful People

It seems to me that one way of approaching individuality is to want to stand out from the crowd and be recognized for one's uniqueness.  I definitely felt that way as a child; I yearned to be "the best" at something--anything, really--and craved the specialness and celebration that would come along with that (it never happened).  But as an adult, I seem to have taken the opposite approach:  my wish is to blend in and be, for lack of a better expression, "just like everyone else."

I'm not even entirely sure what that means.

Well actually, I do know what it means, kind of.  It means I want to be like the Beautiful People.  Who are they?  They are the women I work with and the young adults who go to my shul.  The Beautiful People are socially confident, partnered, and fashionable...and best of all, they belong.  They are never the ones standing around awkwardly at kiddush; they never appear uncomfortable; they somehow instinctively know which necklace or scarf will pair well with which outfit.  The Beautiful People follow the typical trajectory of adult development:  degree, job, partnership, kids--all before age 40.  Whatever is the secret to normalcy, they all seem to know it.

And I?  I can stand in one spot for 20 minutes watching birds, but after 5 minutes of small talk I'm bored out of my mind (either move on to what matters, or let's call it a day).  I am often the one standing around awkwardly at kiddush. I literally have to give myself a pep talk before going to social events. Makeup rarely occurs to me.  And, unlike pretty much everyone I know in my age bracket, I'm single and do not have children on the horizon.  

What's interesting is, taken by themselves, none of those traits bothers me much.  I've been to a lot of therapy and I like who I am, more or less.  But there's no question in my mind that I would have an easier time belonging if I was a different sort of person--a Beautiful Person.

Now, thanks to all that therapy, I'm fully aware that I'm engaging in at least four cognitive distortions (perhaps more!) when I get into this line of reasoning.  The truth is, I know that the "Beautiful People" whose easy lives I envy actually have problems of their own. I also recognize that I don't know them well at all, and it's entirely possible that they feel much more insecure than they appear.  But all of that rational thought pales in comparison to the envy and awe that I feel as I watch them move in their social circles, stylish, coupled, and at ease.

Lately I have been thinking a lot about what it means to move through life on a different path and at a different pace than most of one's peer group. I reached out to several of my Recovery Mentors, all of whom are strong, authentic women who have, in one way or another, gone about life in a "less traditional" way.  I asked them two main questions:

1) How do you go about feeling confident in a life that brings you joy if you are not in sync with your peers?

2) How do you counter the inner voice that pesters, "What's wrong with me, that I'm not like everyone else?!"

My mentors responded with wisdom, vulnerability, and empathy. They let me in on their own journeys and how they found confidence and self-acceptance without needing to conform in all ways. Best of all, they showed me that although I often feel like the "only one" who has these challenges, I am most definitely not alone in the struggle to live authentically.  And in response to my second, "What's wrong with me?" question, one of my mentors had this to say: 

"Absolutely NOTHING. There is something so very right and very you that you are not like everyone else."

It was exactly what I needed to hear, and it made me think of the Jewish belief that we are all created b'tzelem Elohim, in G-d's image.  In Chapter 3 of Pirkei Avot, Rabbi Akiva says: "Beloved is man, for he was created in the image [of G-d]; it is a sign of even greater love that it has been made known to him that he was created in the image, as it says, 'For in the image of G-d, He made man.' (Bereishit 9:6)"  Not only are we each created in G-d's image, but G-d has taken the extra step of letting us know this about ourselves, so we can feel at ease with who we are and what path we are on.

When I stop comparing myself and my life with the fictitiously perfect lives of other people, I can recognize that there is a lot that is "so very right" about who I am.  I appreciate my ability to be patient and quiet and notice what is around me. I value my introversion and introspectiveness, but I know that I can connect deeply with other people.  I'm thankful that my mother taught me that a woman can, in fact, leave the house without makeup on.  And, I'm profoundly grateful for the qualities I have that will hopefully help me become a great foster or adoptive parent one day--whether I'm partnered or not.

G-d, in His infinite wisdom, made us each with the precise qualities that we need to have to fill our place in the world--and He has made sure we know that He loves us as we are.  But sometimes we will forget, and in those times, we all need people in our lives who will answer our cries of, "What's wrong with me?!" by saying, "Sister, listen: you are exactly who you are supposed to be."  I wish for us all that we have wise friends and loved ones who can guide us toward self-acceptance in those times when we need reminding of just how "right" we are.      

This Little Light of Mine...

A few moments ago, I lit the menorah for the third night of Chanukah.  As I write this post, the candles stand upright and proud in their holders, casting small yet hardy flames into the air above them.  True, Chanukah isn't considered among the holiest of days in the Jewish calendar, but it does carry powerful messages for us to consider as we try to find our path in a world that often seems cast in darkness and shadows.

One of the central themes of Chanukah is the victory of the small band of Hasmoneans against the much larger Syrian-Greek army.  As a classic culture, the Greeks had a lot to offer, and they were eager to share their Hellenist rituals and beliefs with the Jews--but the Jews weren't interested.  Simply put, the Jews didn't want what the Greeks were selling.  They appreciated many things about Greek culture--in fact, Judaism has often praised the ancient Greeks for their linguistic and philosophical contributions to the world.  But although they were able to see the virtues of the Greeks, the Jews didn't want to be Greek--they wanted to be Jews, and they had to fight for their right to remain true to themselves.

This is a predicament that continues to face us today.  As we grow and develop into ourselves, there is no shortage of people who are waiting to give us advice and tell us how they think we should live our lives.  Sometimes, outside influence comes in the form of family or close friends who tell us what we should consider, what we should prioritize, what we should value.  Other times, input comes from our surrounding culture that informs us, in no uncertain terms, of how we should dress, how we should speak, how we should behave.  It is easy to be intimidated and confused in the face of all those "shoulds," and when we let those "shoulds" dictate our choices, that's when we start to lose ourselves.  As a person who tries hard to avoid confrontation, I fully appreciate the challenge and scariness of bucking the trend.  But, I also know that I spent many years of my life believing there were only two options--conform, or disappear--and neither of those was entirely successful (or satisfying).  Slowly, I began to wonder if there might be a third option...and Chanukah teaches us that there is.

Chanukah is about the fight that we all must undertake to live by our own light.  It's about remaining true to ourselves in the face of intense cultural pressure and not losing sight of our own priorities and visions.  Chanukah reminds us that this is indeed a fight worth fighting, and that if we are willing to go through the struggle that growth entails, we will emerge stronger and more vital.

We light the Chanukah candles in accordance with the tradition of Beit Hillel:  one candle for the first night, two for the second, and so on in an increasing manner.  Hillel based his ruling on the principle of ma'alin ba'kodesh ve'ayn moridin--one increases in matters of holiness, and does not diminish.  So it is with ourselves--if we do the work of living authentically and speaking our truth, our strength and virtue will increase, as will the light that we are able to share with others.

This Chanukah season, may we all have the courage to use our own light to guide us out of whatever darkness in which we find ourselves.

!חג חנוכה שמח

Go Against the Flow

This week's parasha, Lech Lecha, is so chock-full of rich material that I've already written about it two times!  But, since there's always the possibility to discover something new in Torah, I decided that this week I would try to find a new angle from which to approach this parasha.  An article by Rabbi Max Weiman from aish.com inspired me to begin by taking a close look at Abram--what was it that separated him from the rest of humanity at that point?

In the very beginning, Hashem spoke to Adam, who passed on the teachings to his children and their descendants, including Noah.  But, by the time of Abram, society had once again deteriorated.  Abram lived in a culture of idol worshippers, yet somehow he heard the call of Hashem, the one G-d.  How did this happen?  Some say that he was so enchanted with the beauty of the world, that he knew there had to be one Creator overseeing everything.  However it unfolded, the bottom line is that Abram challenged the status quo and dared to follow what he knew to be true.  He rejected the culture of the majority and instead took a different path--which, as we know, had profound implications for the history of the Jewish people.

Abram wasn't afraid to go against the tide--he went in the direction of what he knew was authentic, even as everyone around him was doing the opposite.  What does it take to be the sort of person who is brave enough to do this?

It takes a lot of work to swim against the cultural stream.  In recovery, this comes up all the time--with the incessant social buzz about diets and weight, it is almost impossible to follow a recovery meal plan without feeling like you're fundamentally at odds with the rest of the Western world.  When people around you are trading stories about workout regimens, it can be hard to remain confident in your decision to cancel your gym membership.  And, when your friends or family members are gossiping about someone else who just lost/gained a noticeable amount of weight, it can be very daunting to look them in the eyes and say, "So what?"

But, this is what recovery demands.  We must be willing to distance ourselves from the commonplace, yet mildly distorted, thinking that pervades our surrounding culture with respect to food and body.  We don't need to buy into the myths of "good" and "bad" foods, and we don't need to believe the falsehood that any one particular body type is the gateway to happiness.  The last time I checked (which wasn't too long ago), no one food will singlehandedly make or break your health, and happy people come in all shapes and sizes.

In the book Reviving Ophelia, by Mary Pipher, there is a chapter called, "Worshiping the Gods of Thinness."  Isn't this what so much of our society is doing?  We have a choice in front of us:  we can either join the majority in their idolization of a phony ideal, or we can be strong enough to follow what we know in our cores to be true.  One of the gifts of recovery is that we can see the falseness of the cultural myths and the misalignment of societal priorities, whereas people who haven't done this work are not always able to do so.  We need to be brave enough to voice our own truths and prove that there is a more genuine way to live.  May we all be blessed with the courage and vision of Abram, and may we spread the light of authenticity to those around us!