My Celebrity Vibe

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I'm taking a summer class at The New School. Two nights a week I sit in a new-fangled class room with white boards and A/V equipment that projects the professor's notes from his laptop to the screen. No overhead projectors here! Boy, it's been a long time since I have been in school, but the class is serving its purpose of making me joyful. Scratch that. The original intent was to save me from bitter professional wretchedness. It has succeed in that and made me joyful. (More on that later.)

The class of about 15 people is a mixed group of older Continuing Ed, not-for-credit types like me and actual college students who are like shiny little pennies. James sits next to me. He looks to be, approximately, 12. He is fashionable and clearly interested and engaged in his studies. And for our first three classes, he was looking at me in a strange way.

It was not an unfriendly or hostile way. Fresh-faced James does not appear to have a hostile bone in his body. It wasn't a come-on kind of way either. I'm old, and he's gay; either way, he wasn't flirting. I guess I would call it a shy curiosity.

At the end of the last class, he stopped me. "Ma'am?" (Cue the mournful clarinet: Wahn, wahn, wahn, wahhhhhhn.) "Yes, young man?" "Has anyone ever told you that you look like someone famous? I've been trying to figure out who you look like for the past 3 classes." We talked about Rene Russo (from your mouth to the ear of God, kiddo!) and the girl in the movie "Lucas" (James missed that one by about 20 years). Maybe he will have it figured it out by tonight's class. But it got me thinking about impressions, the images we portray as well as those we overlay on others.

I've been trying something recently. I have been trying to find something to (silently) compliment about the people I pass on the street. This is not because I am good person. It is because I live in New York City where 8.5 million people conspire on a daily basis to grind your good nature, your best self, down to its nub til the sensitive root is painfully exposed and you can't stop fussing with it, which only inflames the problem and your rage.

To wit:

The other day, a woman was standing on the corner hurling invectives at passersby, including me. I should have a little delicate sympathy here as she probably was mentally ill and needing help...or she was a crack whore with a potty mouth. Either way, it hit the wrong nerve that day. My head turned into that of a cartoon lion - bristly and huge with a gaping maw full of sharp teeth the size of saws. My roar was so loud its cartoon depiction was a hurricane force that sent taxis flying and bent all the telephone poles parallel with the pavement. Her head was almost engulfed by my roaring mouth...then the light changed, and I crossed the street, wishing it would have been possible for me to rage back at her with that kind of force, except it's not good for my blood pressure...

So I've added a new element to my daily Walking Meditation. I silently compliment people. "Your skirt is ugly, but it is a very pretty color...no, no, no, I mean, that sure is a pretty color! Why would a man think sneakers with a suit is a good idea? No, no, no, I mean, how practical you must be or perhaps you recently had foot surgery, etc." I already told you that I am not always the ray of sunshine I aspire to be. It's a process!

This is an exercise meant to strengthen the emotional muscles of my best self, like compassion. Just as an extended physical work-out routine improves your appearance by smoothing out some of the lumps, I believe that working your spiritual and emotional muscles improves your appearance by soothing the raw nerves and smoothing the jagged edges of the lion's teeth. It feels so nice to be calm (this helps too. Trust me.), and I think other people respond to that.
To wit:

My friend D is a stunner. Long legs, huge eyes, curly hair. She's like a flower. And if you know D, I know you agree that she is one of the kindest, most honest, and brain-iest people you know. She really is, and it shows on her wide open face and is complimented by her lovely clothes. Best NYC story ever: D was walking to her car early one morning. She needed coffee, especially as she was facing a traffic-filled drive to New Jersey. A fabulous diva approached. He stopped dead in his tracks right in front of D, put out his hand as a red light, and said, "Stop!" A slow look up and down, and then: "Now turn." Bewildered, D turned around. A pause. Sweeping his hand up and down in the air in front of her, Mr. Fabulous declared his judgment: "I love it. I love everything about it! Go on, girl." And D's shiny inner light flamed a little brighter, and she walked on air the rest of the day.

Good intentions go a long way in improving our path through the world. There are still angry crack whores and petty meanness, but we feel gentler about this reality, we don't fight it. Our furrowed brows relax, our heartbeats slow to a normal pace.

(Can't find your inner flower right now? That's ok; I know life can be mean and hard. My advice for these times is this: Fake it. This is when I employ what I call The Wanda Sykes Principle. To paraphrase, Wanda says that when life gets you down, you have to keep yourself looking good: "Exfoliate!")

Maybe if we feel a little softer, we'll promote a softer vibe in the world. We might crack a smile. And someone might smile back. Sure, I pray for world peace, but all I have the fortitude for on most days is promoting a little peace in my world (and, I hope, yours).

Which brings me back to James and his shy little smile. Are my efforts paying off? Is my inner beauty shining through, generating the charismatic aura of a celebrity? Not likely. I'm usually more quirky Lucille Ball than glamorous Julianne Moore . But maybe quirky friendliness creates its own kind of happy path. Won't you join me on it?