I’m not exactly graceful. Or glamorous. And I don’t pretend to be. But, since it was recently pointed out to me by a friend that I live a fairly interesting life, I figured I just had to write about how I am NOT above making a colossal fool of myself. As a blogger, teacher, author, coach, practitioner, etcetera, I think it’s important to reveal my most embarrassing (and regrettable) moments along with my triumphs.
So this week, I got back from an incredible Unworkshop and writing retreat at the Highlights Foundation in upstate PA. I met phenomenal writers (some of them famous – i.e. Varian Johnson), penned 20,000 words towards my 50,000 NaNoWriMo goal, ate delicious food, and revitalized my love of the craft.
All was as it should be.
Except, of course, for one not so minor problem. I have trouble pooping while on vacation and therefore didn’t go a single time during my entire five-day stint away. So I got back to Philly in a state of gastroenterological panic. And, after a long walk, some supplemental fiber, and meditation (my old standbys) failed to induce the blessed event, I decided to resort to more extreme measures. I went for a colonic.
I lay there for forty-five undignified minutes with a nozzle up my butt. But, I reasoned, it was better than sitting around at home wishing and hoping for results. I’ll spare you the details, but, suffice it to say, the colonic worked and I left feeling buoyed and a lot less bloated. I could take on the world! Or that’s how it felt anyway. Until I got ten minutes down the road – exactly midway between my apartment and the colonic center – and my bowels began another angry insurgence.
I had to go. Urgently. I looked around for a place to stop, but there was nowhere. Could I pull over and go on the side of the road? Too much traffic. I’d be arrested for indecent exposure. So I took a deep breath and did what had to be done.
I shat myself. In my car. It was the most disgusting and regrettable moment of my life and I frankly can’t believe I’m sharing it with you but I harbor a silent grudge against everyone who tries to pretend they’re perfect. I am SO far from perfect. While I used to hate myself and feel completely inadequate and worthless, I certainly don’t feel that way anymore. Today, I can own that I am intelligent and talented and funny and creative and have a lot to offer. But I also shit myself. The point is, I’m human. I’ve worked hard to be able to see myself that way – as neither superior nor inferior – and found a lot of freedom in letting go of the lash of perfectionism. So as you’re driving this week in your stench-free, fluid-free vehicles, think of me in my Prius driving around with my windows down and my seat soaked from soap and shampoo and know that, whatever embarrassments await you, there are probably none so bad as pooping yourself as an adult.