dark night of the ... uhh ... ego, I guess

I went to see He's Just Not That Into You tonight, and I cannot believe how much crap it triggered up in me. I loved the book that it was based upon, and I recognized pieces of my own history in almost every chapter. I must sheepishly admit that I have made tons of excuses for men over the course of my lifetime.

It started all the way back in high school:

He said he'd come by right after practice and he's not here yet ... maybe the coach kept him late today.

And progressed in college:

Yes, he only says he loves me when he's drunk, but he's just too shy to tell me his true feelings when he's sober.

Maybe he doesn't want to seem too eager, so he's waiting to call.

Here's a classic: Yes, I know he technically still has a girlfriend back home, but it's basically over, and he's just waiting until he can tell her in person.

Even into adulthood:

Yes, I know he's got an addiction, but he's already cut way back, and he says he wants my help kicking it for good.

He does love me, but he's just not into marriage.

I might have laughed out loud even more often during the movie if I hadn't been feeling so pathetic and lame.

I need to correct what I said up there. I did not make excuses for men. I made excuses for myself. I looked for reasonable explanations to help me avoid coming to the conclusion that I probably knew deep inside all along but did not want to admit: he's just not that into me.

Time after time, I tied myself in knots to avoid facing that fact. I've been thinking about this all night, and I'm still not exactly sure why I didn't think I could handle the truth. Maybe I would have taken the rejection so personally that I would have collapsed and had a nervous breakdown or something. I dunno. I'm sure my psyche had its reasons.

So there I am tonight, in the dark of the theater, feeling exposed and sheepish and rather idiotic, and I start noticing that most of the leading women in this film are getting older. I make the immediate mental leap that if even Jennifer freakin' Aniston is showing undeniable signs of aging, I am WAY past my prime.

And then it hit me like a ton of bricks: I am over the hill. I honestly never understood that expression before. I get it now though. In terms of conventional and cultural standards of physical attractiveness, the best of me has come and gone. From now on, it's all about inner beauty. Which I actually am okay with ... I'm just a little bit in shock because I didn't notice this side of the hill sneaking up on me.

Remember the Velveteen Rabbit who hoped that one day he would become Real? I hoped that one day I could become beautiful. Realizing I am "over the hill" means letting that dream go. Please don't judge me as being shallow. I realize it sounds ridiculous. It must be a goal that was formed by a very young part of me, because in my head, it sounds like the voice of a Disney Princess.

Eckhart Tolle would probably call it the pain body. Other spiritual teachers might source it in the Ego. Whatever ... all I can tell you is that it sucks.

anyway, after the over the hill whopper sunk in, all kinds of funky stuff started careening through my head:

If I can't be beautiful, at least I can try to be smart.

Maybe I should learn to be a better cook so I have something useful to offer.

My children and grandchildren will love me no matter how I look.

Good thing I work online and by phone. That way no one needs to know what I really look like.

Well, now that I am old, I can give up trying to be attractive and move on to other pursuits.

Yeah, it's been a real party in my head tonight. I don't know why I felt compelled to puke all this out into print, but now that it's done, I do feel like maybe I could do some writing in my Wish Book. I couldn't get anywhere near that option earlier this evening.

After that, I'm going to bed. After all, a girl needs her beauty sleep, right? (ouch ... this is no time for a pun!)

morning update: I did write in my Wish Book, and I woke up feeling more like myself again -- the self that really doesn't notice what I look like, and instead pays attention to how I feel and what I think and what I do. I also feel grateful that I'm not an actress, so I can do my aging in quiet obscurity among friends.