So with deep reservations and a slight edge of bitterness at losing my only chance to have a perfect face, I consented to having nothing but Everest removed. It was a tough decision: I was utterly torn between the intense longing to meet the cultural ideal of beauty and the longing to honor myself as I was, with the effects of having lived the only life I could live—my own—etched into my features.
What Do You "Miswant"?
Most women I know have a completely unrealistic picture of what they are supposed to look like: a composite image based on 5-foot-9-inch models (with 5-foot-7-inch legs), movie stars sashaying down the red carpet, criticism from others that they've absorbed and now turned on themselves, and an unrelenting blast of insane information from our culture. Think of the Extreme Makeover TV show. Its message: Happiness depends on what you look like, and with enough cuts of the knife, you, too, can be happy.
As if.
Daniel Gilbert, PhD, a Harvard psychologist, says that Americans do a tremendous amount of "miswanting." We keep wanting things that will never make us happy. Being rich and thin are values that are shared by practically everyone and rarely questioned. Yet, he points out, studies show that having enough money for the basic necessities of life—food, clothing, and shelter, which cost maybe $40,000 a year—is all we really need for happiness. The effect of the next $10 million is negligible. This tells us that although we fervently believe that something we can touch, like piles of cash or cellulite-free thighs, is going to light up our hearts, the truth is that we usually don't know what will make us happy. Worse, we don't know that we don't know, so we ardently pursue the wrong things.
Faulty Comparisons
It's time to challenge long-held beliefs about what will make us happy. This means questioning the harsh litany of self-criticism—about our thighs, arms, facial features—that plays in our heads all day long. It means catching ourselves every time we compare ourselves to people younger, thinner, or richer. And it means understanding that the image we're relentlessly pursuing is based on the values of a youth-obsessed, airbrushed, adrenaline-driven culture, and that there is no way we could ever look like that. Even fashion models don't look like their images. Their sags, blemishes, and cellulite magically disappear with a few clicks of a mouse wielded by a talented photo retoucher. I once read that the supermodel Cindy Crawford, after hearing that people wanted to look like pictures of her, said, "I wish I looked like Cindy Crawford."
Normal women have wrinkles, sags, and stretch marks. But because we don't compare ourselves to normal women, we end up feeling as if our bodies are wrong. As if our imperfect bodies are an indication that we are not working hard enough, don't care passionately enough, and have let ourselves go. Worse, we assume that our imperfect bodies say something about our souls. We ascribe inherent, fundamental meaning to the size and shape of our bodies, and when they don't live up to our impossible standards, we feel damaged and doomed and worthless.
Next time you have the chance (at a grocery store, a mall, a health club), take a good look at a real woman's body. Pick someone who passed through puberty more than 10 minutes ago. Notice the wrinkles, the lumps, the bumps. And repeat after me: This is what living looks like. This is what loving and losing and hoping and caring do to bodies. The goal of life is not to get through to the end and wind up looking like you just began. The goal is to allow yourself to have your life—"your one wild and precious life," as the poet Mary Oliver says—and in doing so, to discover that you are the prize, the celebration, the only place where happiness can ever be found.
Change Your Attitude
Once you've perused real women's bodies for a while, find a full-length mirror and look at yourself naked for at least 3 minutes. Do this once a week for 6 weeks. (That's how long it will take to transform your attitude.) Look at all the sags, stretch marks, and wrinkles, and tell yourself, This is what living looks like. This is what loving looks like.
Then remind yourself that you're speaking the absolute truth.
