When I reached Venereal Diseases, I thought, “Okay, let’s see what’s happening in that world.” The first page covered gonorrhea; the second, syphilis. The brochure was loaded with basic medical information, accompanied by some disgustingly graphic illustrations. Then I got to a sentence that, even to this day, still sends shivers down my spine: “Of course, one can contract both gonorrhea and syphilis in the same sexual encounter.” (Boy, talk about your rotten luck!) My mind raced to one possible scenario:
FADE IN:
INTERIOR: COUPLES’ BEDROOM — NIGHT
HE
Baby, I have some really bad news…
SHE
What is it, sweetie?
HE
…and I hope that you’ll be able to forgive me.
SHE
It’s okay, you can tell me. I’ll always love you. No matter what.
HE
Well…I just found out that I tested positive for gonorrhea. And I probably gave it to you.
SHE
What?! How could you?!
(choking back tears)
You miserable piece of shit!
(now sobbing uncontrollably)
HE
You’re right. I am a miserable piece of shit. But I hope you can find it in your heart to forgive me.
SHE
Forgive you? How could I ever forgive you?!
HE
I’m not sure. But I pray that you can. You mean everything to me. I’ll do anything to make things up to you.
SHE
I don’t know. I just don’t know.
(sobbing again)
You’re such an asswipe! I trusted you!
HE
Please? I beg you, please?
SHE
(after a pause)
All I can say is that I’ll think about it.
(wiping away her tears)
I mean, I don’t want to throw away our whole relationship.
HE
Thank you, thank you, thank you baby. I love you so much!
SHE
I love you too. We’ll find a way to work this out.
HE
I know we will.
(after a pause)
Oh, baby…?
SHE
Yes, sweetie?
HE
Umm…there’s just one more little thing…
FADE TO BLACK
As anyone who knows me would testify, I am by nature anything but an optimist. For some, the glass is half full. For others, the glass is half empty. I used to joke that for me, there is no glass.
However, over time and with mindful effort, I have found that it is possible to gradually shift that perspective in a more constructive direction by focusing on worse case circumstances. Fever of 101? Well, it could be 104. Can only afford to buy one new pair of shoes? It could be zero pairs of shoes. Having a squabble with your partner? At least you have a partner. When someone says to me, “Well, at least it couldn’t be any worse,” my rejoinder is usually swift and firm: “Don’t say that! Things can always get worse!” (And, frankly, at some point in the future, they very likely will be.)
I don’t recall what actually brought me in to the LA Free Clinic that day. But I do remember what I came away with: The knowledge that, no matter how bad things are, they could always be worse — so, try to be grateful that they aren’t. And the price for that nugget of wisdom was, fittingly, free.
Life Lesson:
Things could always be worse.
“Exotic Dancers.” What an odd euphemism. Had someone misspelled the word, inadvertently swapping an “r” with an “x”? Didn’t matter. The pink-and-turquoise neon sign hypnotically flashing outside the red velvet curtain beckoned me. I was barely twenty-one when I anxiously stepped foot into this surreal environment. I clumsily made my way to a red leatherette booth that was as far from the stage as I could possibly find. The music was thumping and there were scantily clad girls chatting and laughing and milling about everywhere. It was absolutely terrifying — and terribly exciting. I gazed forward, praying to be seen and yet not seen. Trying to appear as cool and calm as a secret agent in a foreign land. Within moments, I felt a warm body sit beside me. I could barely summon the courage to see who it was.
She was an older woman. You know, like twenty-six or something. And very pretty. Okay, now what was I supposed to do? “So…what’s your name?” I awkwardly asked, not having any clue where to look or not look. “Vixen,” she replied with a wink and a smile. “Oh. Umm…is that your real name?” I stupidly inquired. (James Bond I clearly was not.) “Of course not, silly! It’s Karen.”
I was instantly intrigued. And no, not only for the obvious reasons. I found everything about her fascinating. “What was it like, the first time you went on stage?” She tilted her head. “Well, that was years ago. But I remember feeling nervous and embarrassed. I really wanted everyone’s approval, but I was afraid of being rejected — Ya know, not being good enough. And lots of shame and guilt…I kept thinking about what if my family could see me.” “And then what?” I quickly queried. (Remember, when I’m anxious, I ask lots of questions.) “Well,” she began, “the moment I heard all of that cheering and clapping, and saw the dollar bills raining down on me, I felt great!” “And what about since then?” I wanted to know. “Well, I’ve been doing this for a long time. I guess by now I’m pretty much used to it. It’s my job. Yeah, it can get weird — what I do for a living, the long hours I spend in this place, all the alcohol and drugs in the dressing room, the parade of faceless strangers, staring at me from the darkness. This is my life.”
I was now completely immersed in her story. I needed to know how she copes with all of it: “What about now? How do you survive?” She shrugged, paused a moment, and replied simply: “Three minutes at a time.” And, as if on cue, her song began. Karen gave me a pat on the leg, and Vixen made her way to the stage.
So that was how she did it. I got it. It’s just too overwhelming, trying to take on everything all at once. Break it into smaller chunks and try to live more in the present. “Three minutes at a time.” Kinda like the X-rated version of Alcoholics Anonymous. (But with happier customers and better tips.)
Life Lesson:
Living in the moment makes life manageable.
It was utterly surrealistic. In a heartbeat, the once-proud Alfa Romeo roadster had been reduced to a smoldering heap of mangled metal. Did this really just happen? One moment, gliding and slithering around bends. How could this be? The next moment, slamming into a concrete embankment, spinning out, and wheezing its last breath. When was I going to wake up from this nightmare?
Ever since I saw the movie The