There are times in your life when you have to be honest about where you're at. And it can be very tough to realize that certain things just aren't going to happen.
My list has gotten longer lately.
I am struggling to accept the following things about myself:
I will probably never be a thin person.
I've been struggling with my weight my entire life (or at least since I was 10 years old) and it never gets any better or any easier. In fact, my latest attempt to "do something" about this tripped off a binge of epic proportions. I'd been berating myself for not getting on top of my expanding waistline, wondering where all those years had gone since I vowed to get thin. How could I have let it go on so long, get so out of control? I know why now. Even thinking about changing my eating habits made me want everything I "couldn't have". We had to go on a low carb, sugar free diet for my husband's illness (new medications) and I immediately started eating compulsively, even though the food we were eating was delicious and plentiful. I've become so attuned to restricting my food that the mere contemplation of it generates a vicious backlash. I read an article on the National Post the other day that at least made me feel a bit less guilty about this. With the level of stress in my life these days, it's no wonder I cling to my drug of choice so fervently. Yuck.
I will probably never work as a screenwriter.
I have spent at least 10 years of concerted effort (and a number of years frittering away my time and energy) trying to get a career in screenwriting off the ground. I attended UCLA, the best school in the world for screenwriting, and even followed it up with a stint at the Canadian Film Centre. I had a film pre-selected for Cannes for effs sake. But I couldn't make it happen. I tried folks, I really tried, but it just did not work. And now I have no love or passion for it. I see movies coming out of Hollywood and with a few notable exceptions, cannot imagine myself writing them. With so many fresh faces pouring out of film schools every year, and so many talented writers already scrambling for the handful of script assignments there are, this is mission impossible. Or rather, I don't have the stomach for the game any more, so there's no point trying. That was expensive. And a lot of work.
I will probably never have a second child.
This one surprised me. As I mentioned on an earlier blog, I never thought I'd want more than one, or even expect I could/should have more than one. In spite of my advanced age, (I'm 43), in spite of the fact that I have stage 4 endometriosis, and in spite of all evidence to the contrary, I assumed that because I got pregnant once, that I could just "do it again" at the drop of a hat. A few days ago, I got a blood test done that measured my day 3 hormones, (the dreaded CD3 tests that strike fear into many women's hearts) and low and behold, I got my first taste of impending menopause. After staying relatively stable below 10 until a year ago, my FSH levels have ratcheted up to 14, making the likelihood of a spontaneous pregnancy almost impossible. Unfortunately, as my doctor informed me, it's not enough to use for birth control, but it's highly unlikely anything will happen. So now I'm stuck between wondering if it's possible and protecting against it if it is? In my heart of hearts, I know it's not going to happen and it probably shouldn't. I'm old. I'm grey. I'm tired. And my husband is sick. We're done. But it makes me sad.
I've entertained a litany of other fantasies about myself, spurred on by the fact that I (used to be) young and that anything can happen. So...
I will probably never be a rock star.
I will probably never be a model, (not even a plus size model).
I will probably never live in the South of France (or Napa, or even Niagara) in my own vineyard.
I will probably never perform on a large (or small) stage.
I will probably never get a PhD.
I will probably never host my own talk show.
I will never be on Oprah (but then again, no one will now, the show's done).
Funny, while writing that list I felt very uncomfortable. Like letting go of the dream was too painful. So I added "probably" to my statements.
I mean, who knows.
Perhaps I'm not ready to face facts?
M
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