My Fair Lazy - Jen Lancaster [32]
Ipso facto, if I surround myself with positive influences, I’ll be more erudite.
I already have plenty of cultivated (yet fascinating) people in my life—I mean, I know a master sommelier, so why don’t we ever get together to drink great wine? One of my friends works in a big museum—why haven’t I ever taken her up on her offer of a backstage tour? Apparently I know socialites, so why do I struggle with even the most basic of social graces? Plus, through Stacey I’ve met chefs and lots of theater people—shouldn’t I be able to learn from all of them? I mean, if I actually put forth the effort and don’t shake and rock and go all hot-water-burns-baby every time they try to talk about what I previously found mind-numbing?
I mean, maybe I’ll learn I’ve actually been very happy avoiding opera my whole life. Maybe I’ll discover that my initial impression of the Vaseline barbell was on the money. Maybe I’ll discover stinky cheese tastes exactly as bad as it smells and my love for Kraft American singles is forever.
And maybe I won’t. And that’s okay.
The real value will be in having had the experiences in the first place.
I’m willing to wager that being able to draw from a greater depth of knowledge and experience will make me a better writer because I’ll finally be able to describe someone as evil without having to reference Blair Waldorf or Mr. Burns.
Because, dude, it’s time.
Perhaps my first official foray outside of my comfort zone should have involved wearing a bra.
To backtrack, once in a great while, I’ll come across a book that totally alters my perspective. Years ago, when I read Ayn Rand’s magnum opus Atlas Shrugged, it forever changed the way I looked at the relationship between industry and government.66 And a college course featuring Catcher in the Rye brought out the foulmouthed cynic I never knew lived inside me.
That may or may not have been a good thing.
What inspired me in Eat, Pray, Love was that Elizabeth Gilbert put herself into situations that were initially uncomfortable, but that ended up helping her meet her goal—finding fulfillment in body, mind, and spirit. She tried all kinds of crazy stuff, some of which she liked, and some she didn’t, but each try brought her a step closer to her goal.
That’s why I’m here, top off, facedown on this terry-cloth-covered table. I decided the best way to push myself out of my comfort zone was to revisit something I’d previously written off, so I’m getting a massage. I know, I know. . . . Everyone loves a massage! Except me. First of all, massages hurt. A lot. I’m generally so tense that even a little manipulation kills. Second, the least relaxing thing I can think to do is to take my pants off in front of a stranger, no matter how professional he or she may be. Third, I actually thrive on stimulus bordering on chaos, so lying in a dark, quiet room, hearing the sound of nothing but whale music and the occasional rippling of back fat is NOT my recipe for a good time.
I figure if I can get past my discomfort—you know, just dive in—I might find some value in it. Plus, it’s easier than going to a museum.
I’m lying here, trying to clear my mind. But the thing is, the second the masseuse turns off the light, my thoughts begin to race:
I wish the masseuse had eucalyptus oil. I hate lavender and my only other choice was lemongrass, which smells nice, but it totally makes me want another one of those lemongrass mojitos we had when Stacey invited me to the opening of that new hotel. I guess now that I think about it, it was kind of disrespectful for me to mock the PR girls for going on and on about the giant tuna they were going to carve into fresh sushi. But the second we walked in, everyone was all, “Did you see the fish? Did you see the fish? You have to see the fish!” like it was the second coming of Christ or something. So, I ask you, how was I not supposed to bend over