I'm Not Popular

Wikipedia defines popularity this way: a social phenomena that dictates who or what is best liked.

Simple, right?  No so much.

Like so many other concepts - wealthy or good looking are examples - it is essentially impossible to be popular. Why? Because no matter what there is always someone wealthier, better looking or more popular than you.

I've been mulling over popularity recently, after a conversation with a friend about some cliquish, mean behavior she witnessed.  She wasn't the target - just about everyone else not present in the room was - but it made her fearful because she realized that when she isn't in the room she's probably a target, too. She was fearful, hurt, and mulling over what makes a true friend.

I have many friends. I'm really blessed. I no longer think about popularity, ever, and it used to be something that was more important to me than I like to admit.

The irony is that when I thought about popularity a lot I had very few friends. Now that I don't think about it anymore I have many, many friends. And by friends I mean people who are so interwoven into my life they are like oxygen to me, not people I chat with in the supermarket aisle.

Before, I had a mission to be liked, not just by close friends but all the supermarket aisle people, too. And not just liked, but liked best.

When I was drinking, and in early sobriety (which I think of as my whole first year), being liked was the most important thing to me. I would shape-shift to become who you wanted me to be, virtually guarantying you would think I was great, because I would remind you of you.

I realized that what my friend was witnessing with the Mean Girls (and, yes, they are Mean Girls even though they are middle aged women) was the insatiable urge to be liked best.  One way to be sure you're liked best is to make sure other people aren't liked as much as you.  Putting others down to inflate your own ego is the cheap, easy way to perceived popularity.

It's not real popularity, because as I said above real popularity doesn't exist. Stepping on the heads of others to put your place a little higher is a fleeting thing, because you're surrounded by people who are just waiting for their turn to step on you.

As I look around my life today I'm surrounded by friends that not only wouldn't ever step on me, they would do anything to boost me up. I'm the same way with them.

This doesn't mean we don't disagree, or argue, or feel hurt. That happens, not often, but it does happen.  The beauty is that we mend our rifts, soothe our wounds, and in the process strengthen our bond.

I knew I was finally growing out of my need to be popular when, a few years ago, I ran head-first into a wall of criticism.

There were people out there who didn't like me - me! - the person who had bent over backwards to never hurt a fly and to be kind and giving no matter what!  OH, the righteous indignation, the burning hurt and shame.  Were my critics right? Did I need to change what I say - who I am - to be liked?  

Slowly, and with the help of dear friends in recovery, I learned the kind, gentle person I believed myself to be was a fraud. I was no better than the hurtful people, because I wasn't showing my true self to them. Or, as it turns out, to myself.  I was unfailingly polite, friendly and kind, even as I grit my teeth in the face of horrible behavior.

I learned to be okay with people disagreeing with me, with what I stand for. I stopped taking not being liked personally. I realized people can not like me, and that my life goes on.  My critics make me think. I listen to what they have to say, and try to remain teachable.  As long as they aren't being insulting. I stop listening when insults start. 

They can only step on me if I let them.

Being your true self in all matters is hard. Impossible, really. I get caught up in gossip, sometimes. I fall victim to the 'nobody-likes-me's'.  When I'm with a bunch of people who are gossiping, I don't puff out my chest indignantly and tell them to stop, or cover my ears.  Sometimes I'll walk away, but not always.  Sometimes I even participate.  I tell myself I'm not doing it in a hurtful way, but of course it's almost always hurtful.

I don't get a feeling of superiority from it. I don't do it to be popular, because I've ridden that roller coaster before and I know it leads nowhere.  My goal is to avoid cliquish, gossipy behavior altogether.

There is no reason not to aim high.

It's funny how the Mean People have such pull, though, you know?  How quickly we can be drawn in by their vitriol.  How easily doing the Right Thing feels prudish, dorky, awkward.

Being in recovery has ruined my ability to be petty, though. Not that I never do it, but I can't do it with impunity anymore. I try to surround myself with people who are secure enough in themselves that they don't step on others to raise their own position. For the most part, I'm successful.  But I live in the world, and Mean Happens.

All I can do is cultivate an awareness of my motives, and strive to be a better person in the future, even as I know I won't ever do it perfectly.

The Problem With Being A Liar

According to several news sources, in a recent meeting with Travis Tygart, CEO of the USADA (US Anti-Doping Association), Lance Armstrong said, as he was storming out of the meeting, "You don't hold the keys to my redemption.  I do."

Timothy A. Clary /AFP/Getty Images

The thing is, Tygart does hold the keys to Armstrong's redemption, if there is to be one. We all do. You don't get to pick how people respond to you - whether you are lying or telling the truth.  

Having lived on both sides of the truth (my version and the real version), I know.  I spent a too much of my adult life as a professional liar - as an alcoholic so wrapped up in her addiction I would do and say anything to protect it, especially towards the end, when I was desperate.

I see Lance Armstrong as a desperate man. He spent years basking in adoration, which is an intoxicating feeling, and he got hooked on it.  I see someone so addicted to the version of himself he constructed over the years, that he likely believes his own lies.  That's probably why he was good at lying for a long time; the best liars believe their own stories.  It's the infrastructure of denial: when the lies you tell outwardly  become something you believe inwardly.

One problem with being a liar is that you are faced with two options: tell the truth, after which everyone in your life will know you lied (either outwardly or by omission - both are lies).  Alternatively, you can keep on weaving your web and hope you don't end up entangled in it yourself.  The latter is much easier, until it isn't, because you get to manipulate people's response to you, at least in theory.

Once you 'come clean', confess and tell your truth, you give up that control, which leaves you exposed and vulnerable. It feels like handing the keys to your life to other people, if you're doing it right. If you're telling your truth from the deepest part of you, because you can't live with yourself for one more second.  If you are confessing without any ulterior motive then you're truly surrendering.

If you're confessing with the hopes that you can direct people's response to your confession, you will be sorely disappointed.

Another problem with being a liar and is that once you reveal the truth (or it is revealed for you), nothing that comes out of your mouth means anything.

Any addict or alcoholic who has come clean, told their truth, and surrendered to their disease - and all the wreckage it caused - knows this.  I know this from personal experience.  Words are meaningless; the only thing that matters is your actions.  

You hand your redemption, if there is to be one, over to the people you hurt the most.  For regular people, this is usually family and close friends.

For celebrities of international status, like Armstrong, the circle of people you have hurt - duped, manipulated, lied to - is much wider.  We all feel the sting of what we believed that person to represent (remember Tiger Woods?). In Armstrong's case his reputation, at its height, reached saint-like status.  We put him there, and he let us.  

Dangerous territory indeed, because it took him, somehow, out of the realm of human failure, where we all live ... whether we like it or not.

None of us is an angel or a devil. We are all complicated blends of both.  Armstrong is as human as the rest of us, so I'm not pointing fingers at him, thinking that somehow vilifying him makes me a better person. Quite the contrary, in fact. I think he's just like me, and anyone else who has lived in the prison of their own creation.  

We are a society that likes to build people up to god-like status, and then rub our hands gleefully when they fall. We also like to believe in redemption.  I don't think we can change this mob mentality; it comes with any form of celebrity.  

He was no more deserving of the adoration, when it comes down to it, than he is of vilification.  But we're human, too, so we'll keep doing it.

I believe he became drunk on public admiration, even while doing incredible philanthropic work through LiveStrong, and would do - and say - anything to hang onto it.

I understand this. I have lived there - more than once - in my life. Each time, the keys to freedom from my lies lay not in my words, but in my actions. I don't get to control people's reaction to anything I do, in particular when it comes to hurting them, lying, pretty-ing up, covering up or otherwise presenting a less-than-truthful version of myself.  

Redemption comes, if it is to be, when you throw up your hands and give up what will happen to you.  

Otherwise known as surrender.

Being contrite is nice, flowery confessions are lovely, but the real proof is in actions.  

Lance Armstrong thinking he controls his own redemption doesn't bode well, in my opinion, for the version of his future that he wants so badly.  To me his behavior, so far, is the opposite of surrendered; he still thinks he controls the outcome.

Truth with contingencies (like love me because I told the truth!) rarely works.  I'm sorry doesn't even work; not for liars, but it's a good start.  

I'll be curious to hear what he says to Oprah. He wants to get back into elite sports again - to compete in elite triathlons. If he's confessing to get something in return, I hope he doesn't get it, because he won't learn a thing.  He needs to fall farther, until the only motive for truth telling is to relieve himself of the burden of lying.

I say all this because I am a liar.  And a truth teller. We are all both.  

I have experienced the freedom of surrender,  taken my will back, and then surrendered it again. And again. And again. It's constant work, and nobody does it perfectly.  Each time I choke out my truths without wishing for any certain outcome, I feel freer, lighter.  

I'm not rubbing my hands hoping he falls; to do so would be astonishingly hypocritical.  He doesn't owe me anything, not really, but I still feel duped on some visceral level.   What I wish for him is freedom from the burden of control, of self-centered protestations and lies.  

In Which I Just Have To Look

Yesterday ranks up there with one of the worst May days I can remember, weather-wise.    The thermometer on my car climbed to 100 degress, and the pollen was so thick the backyard looked foggy.   My dark blue car turned neon yellow.   

Finn insisted on trying to go to the playground for a picnic.   It lasted four minutes, what with the sneezing and the burning of hands on the roasting metal playground structure.   

We gave up, and spent the day hunkered down indoors.   I was feeling edgy, cooped up and headachy.   A perfect time to catch up on current events troll for gossip on the internet.

My favorite gossip center is TMZ.   I settled in to enjoy some dish, but was immediately struck by all the stories about addiction.   There were five - count 'em - FIVE stories yesterday alone that had to do with celebrities struggling with alcoholism or drug abuse.    And, tragically, two stories about premature deaths due to the use and abuse of drugs.    Click back two or three pages and that number climbs to four.   

Of course, there were several stories about everyone's favorite train wreck, Lindsay Lohan.   I feel for that girl, I really do, because between her crazy childhood and constant scrutiny by the media, her struggles with addiction have been reduced to fodder for the gossip rags.    She has evolved into something of a joke, and I fear one day I'll click to TMZ and read that she has overdosed.   Remember Anna Nicole Smith?   We all loved to watch her, agape at her antics.   She's dead.  

These two pictures alone demonstrate what drugs and alcohol have done to this 23 year old (photos courtesy of TMZ.com):

A judge recently issued her a SCRAM bracelet (which randomly tests for alcohol or drugs in someone's system, and cannot be removed, something she had before, back in 2007).   My heart sank, though, when I read about a caveat in the judge's order; she can take two drugs that are prescribed to her by a doctor:   Adderall and Ambien.   Adderall is a stimulant prescribed for ADHD, and Ambien is a sleep aid.   In other words:  speed and a downer.    Abuse of prescription drugs is rampant amongst young people, and her chances of getting sober are greatly diminished if she is taking these two drugs.    

Mindy McCready, a recent graduate of Celebrity Rehab 3 for treatment of alcoholism, made the news because her mother called 911, fearing a drug overdose.   Mindy admitted to taking 25 pills of Darvocet, a painkiller, as well as another muscle relaxant.   She remains hospitalized due to fears of a suicide attempt.    Mindy has released statements that her mother "overreacted", and it is impossible to know the whole truth, but yet again prescription medication rears its ugly head.

Rip Torn appeared in court to face charges stemming from an incident in February, where he entered a bank, intoxicated and waving a gun around, confused and thinking he was in his own home.   The pain in his eyes in his mug shot makes my heart ache.  According to news reports, he completed an alcohol education course and is considering rehab, so it is likely both the attempted robbery charge and two DUI charges will be dropped.   

Jason Wahler, from the television show Laguna Beach, is potentially signing on to Celebrity Rehab 4, after a string of arrests due to alcohol related incidents and DUIs over the past few years.   Alcohol has aged Jason considerably in the past three years.   He is 23 years old.:

Tila Tequila has signed on to Celebrity Rehab 4 as well, for an addiction to prescription painkillers.

All this in just yesterday's news.   Add to this the death of Brittany Murphy's husband, Simon Monjack, at the age of 39.  Monjack was awaiting heart bypass surgery, but sources say prescription drug abuse played a key role in the deterioration of his health.  Brittany Murphy (the actress from Girl, Interrupted, Clueless and several other films) died in December of 2009 at age 32.   The cause of death was a combination of pneumonia, an iron deficiency and multiple drug intoxication, a coroner said. The drugs involved were legal and used to treat a respiratory infection, according to an autopsy.   Nobody owns the truth, but I see this double tragedy as two lives cut short as a direct result of drug abuse.

If the gossip rags aren't talking about peoples' troubles with drugs and alcohol, of course the next favorite topic is who's fat and who's not.    TMZ posted this picture of Ashlee and Jessica Simpson:

Comments about Ashlee's post-baby body (what's left of it) versus Jessica's curves were rampant.    Adding to the post-baby body frenzy was this picture of Bethenny Frankel, of Real Housewives of New York, who gave birth sixteen days ago:

We dont' have all day, so I won't go on a tirade about the unrealistic demands this places on women to bounce right back from childbirth.   All I will say is someone, please, give that woman a sandwich.

I'll end on a positive note.   I blogged about Michael Ventrella's struggles on the Biggest Loser.    Michael was the heaviest contestent ever on the show, beginning at 526 lbs.     He won the competition, losing a staggering 264 pounds:

I find his story very inspiring.   On the days I just don't feel like working out, or I feel like I can't stand my new healthy diet for one more second, I think about how much courage he had, how he didn't give up.   If he can do it, I can do it too.

Don't get me wrong, I wallow in the gossip rags and websites as much as the next person.    I think the whole point is that it's almost impossible to look away.     But while we're staring, I hope some good can be done, some recognition that drug abuse is killing off young people, that alcoholism is more than a splashy story on the front page.    These are very real diseases that are immune to socio-economic, cultural, ethnic and celebrity status.   

Even though I look, I wish that people would put the cameras down and reach out a hand instead.