Life Lessons

Last night I learned a very valuable set of lessons that I hope I won't forget in the next 2 months and 6 days. The first and foundational lesson is that my constitution is too anxious and preoccupied to read in-depth coverage of the financial crisis. I had already had an emotional day yesterday for reasons previously recounted, but then, after some cardio and a veggie pizza with my Beloved, I snuggled up in a rocking chair to the lastest Newsweek. In less than 8 minutes, I had absorbed all of the fear and panic of the entire capital system and could hardly breathe. I literally only read the table of contents, the letter from the Editor, and the following page with all the quotes from the week. Where the wheels came off my emotional cart was the quote from Alan Greenspan, who allegedly said, more or less that the markets now are the worst he's ever seen in his entire life, and he's like 130 years old.

The room was spinning, and I was light-headed from the rush of pure terror. Say whatever you want about US Magazine-- and the criticisms are likely valid and the long-term affects of such tripe may cause eating disorders and a host of other social maladies-- but I have never had a panick attack just from reading the first three pages, though sometimes when I read about the Olsen twins I have a gag reflex.

I pried myself away from the doom and gloom and found Jeff laying in bed, feeling a little puny from a headache and too much Ryder cup golf last weekend. Here's a replay of our conversation:

Me: I am feeling scared. I was reading about the financial markets and am having a panic attack. I was already sad about my friend's husband and this put me over the edge.

Jeff: Oh?

Me: Is everything going to be ok? I feel so scared that such bad stuff can happen.

Jeff: Yes, bad stuff happens. Really bad stuff.

long silence

Me: Is that my pep talk?

Jeff: Yep. Feel better?

Ok, lesson #2: It's not Jeff's job to make me feel better. It's not his job to shield me from seismic shifts in the economy or from the unpleasant, but rather banal fact, that people do not actually live forever. Here's living proof that opposites attract: Jeff assumes that everyone will be ok-- the bankers who no longer have jobs, the cleaning people who were laid off because their investment banker employers can no longer afford the luxury of having their houses cleaned by illegal immigrants, young widows, David Duchovny and his family. In Jeff's world view, everything will sort itself out in due time and he accepts peaceably that there will be certain amounts of pain and discomfort along the way, but fundamentally, all is well. Not me. Not for one second. I project and project and project, and it all moves so quickly in my head that I am already worried about how my granchildren will cope when the market crashes again in 2043. It's not so much that I assume every situation will end with devastating poverty and abject losses, but I can imagine it all so vividly and I spend an inordinate amount of time imagining it. So maybe I do assume this will all end with us living in a eco-unfriendly cardboard box down by a toxic river trying to scavenge enough aluminum cans to afford one more therapy session to learn how to better set boundaries as a homeless person. See? It's so easy for me to go there.

The real clue that the pep talk was over, however, was when Jeff started snoring moments later. Lesson #3: Just because I am anxious enough to chew my knuckles off doesn't mean that Jeff has to suffer and join me in the fear about the collapse of the United States of America.

But, speaking of America, I stumbled on something that made me feel some joy and some faith in humankind this morning. In these darkish times politically and economically, I have decided to take it where I can get it, and today it from America. As in America Ferrara, the young actress who stars in a show I can safely say I will never voluntarily watch (Ugly Betty), but who helped me turn my corner of the bridal caboose from the dark side to the sunny side of the street.

I just read a report that Ms. Ferrara, upon achieving a certain level of financial success, splurged on a new BMW. And, no, that is not what lifted my mood, though I used to have a little slate BMW named Sadie that I loved for a lot of the wrong reasons, but it was still love. What buoyed my mood was reading that Ms. Ferrara was riding around in her BMW and realized that she just needed a car to get from point A to point B, so she returned the BMW and got a Toyota. I can't exactly say why that seemed like good news. Maybe next to the news about the largest banks sinking into oblivion makes a story about a young woman in Hollywood who makes a practical decision seems like a hope. Or it was just surprising enough to jar me out of my doom jag and it made me feel like it's happy to hear about people who have what another generation may call "good sense," which comports with her good sense not to starve herself into inanity like so many young starlets. I pray she doesn't pull a Christina Ricci or Keira Knightly by losing tons of weight and then publish patently absurd statements like, "my whole family is thin, I am not hungry, I only crave the taste of cigarettes."

I pray that Ms. Ferrara and I both can embrace our fullsome size 6 (or sometimes 8, depending on the cycle of the moon) frames and our non-luxury and non-German chariots. I'll take the inspiration wherever I can get it.