All Over the Map - Laura Fraser [59]
So I run to the fabric store, pick out the first color that catches my eye, ignore the directions, and throw the dye in the wash with the dress. When it comes out a splotchy Halloween orange instead of the pretty coral on the box, I cry—for my ruined dress, my stupidity, and my relationships that have failed partly due to my darned impatience. I wished I could start over: undye the dress, take back what I said, and look before I leaped.
I guess I’ve always had mild issues with what psychologists call impulse control. I know I’m not the person to rely upon to say “no” to things, whether it’s another glass of wine, late-night dancing at a dive club, or a five-day trip into the Sinai Desert with Bedouins I just met a few hours ago. I rarely stop to weigh pros and cons, risks and benefits, long-term costs, and, worst of all, more sensitive people’s reactions. I like to do things fast, and do them now. It’s hard for me to resist my urges—to buy cobalt blue shoes, book a trip to Italy, or tell someone off. This does me no good: If I’m upset with a friend or colleague, I’ll whip off a scathing e-mail. I jump into flirtations with men I barely know and then get furiously hurt when they aren’t in love with me. I always say what’s on my mind, even when my mind isn’t fully engaged. My actions are immediate, but the consequences—embarrassment, burned bridges, badly fitting boots—are lasting. Basically, I could use a pause button.
Not long after I leave my former wedding dress in a free box on the sidewalk in the Haight for a homeless person to wear, a magazine editor calls to ask what my worst trait is. “Impulsiveness,” I immediately reply. When she then suggests I go see a woman named Sharon Salzberg for some help and then write about it, I instantly agree. It isn’t until I’m on the plane, reading the blurb on one of her books, Lovingkindness, that I discover that Salzberg is one of the country’s leading meditation teachers. I’ve done it again! By not thinking things through, I’ve landed in a disastrous situation. The last thing I am capable of doing is sitting still to meditate. I’ll do it wrong, fail to write the story, and, the way things are going, end up waiting tables. I am an idiot, but there’s no turning back.
I arrive at the hotel where Sharon is staying, expecting to meet an ethereal, remote woman in flowing robes and maybe a shaved head. But when she opens the door to her room, she is casual, sharp, and funny—with a New York accent—and somehow makes me feel as if I’ve known her for years.
I dive right in, explaining that I suspect I act rashly because I can’t bear to sit with uncomfortable feelings. I’m always booking plane tickets to run away from them, I say. In the past, I managed my emotions by the mouthful, using food to stuff down pangs of loneliness, rejection, unworthiness, or failure. When I was younger, the fact that I had such little impulse control led to some seriously chaotic eating problems, which I eventually overcame. But even after I learned to eat more mindfully, savoring every taste and smell, my impulsiveness just spun out in new directions: shooting off my mouth, cutting my own bangs, getting overly invested and upset about a guy whose profile I first read on Match.com the morning before, and making a general mess of my life.
Sharon seems both amused and sympathetic and observes that my impulsiveness isn’t all bad—it’s a quality that’s related to being spontaneous, vivid, and generous. It’s true: I’m happy to throw a spur-of-the-moment dinner party, I’m quick with a retort, and I never have to return to a boutique to discover that the dress I wanted is gone. I even have a few friends left. Sharon tells me I shouldn’t be so hard on myself for my impulsiveness but learn to make my temperament work for my benefit. “You can prize that adventurous spirit and become more mindful of times when you’re hurting yourself or others,” she says. What I need is to slow down my speed and momentum, take time to investigate my feelings, and create a private sense