I found I had two distinct lenses through which I could see the people on the beach. These two lenses felt almost real, like those ones optometrists use to test your eyesight – clicking through, “One? or Two? Which is better?”
The first lens was the Sarcastic, Critical Sneering-but-Funny One.
Through this perspective, I saw butts hanging out of bathing suits, wrinkly thighs, fake boobs, raggedy-tan skin, fraggle-rock teeth, nasty chest hair.
This perspective laughed at the buttocks that jiggled down. This perspective made rude comments under her breath. This one saw a beach cluttered with overweight idiots who don’t know how to dress themselves. This lens rolled its eyes at the girl with the bloody nose piercing that hung like a bejeweled booger from her nose. This lens clearly saw myself as superior in so many ways…
It was oddly easy to shift the lens. Click. And the scene was entirely different. This lens didn’t mind the cellulite, but appreciated the smiles; this lens found the whole scene cheery with colors and patterns and sun and salt.
It wasn’t a goody-two-shoes lens. It was a compassionate, loving, everyone here has suffered, everyone here is someone’s child or mother lens.
My heart stretched open. My body breathed easier.
The funny thing is, while the critical lens had me assuming the Top of the Heap superior position (because I wear a bathing suit that FITS !) , I was still judging myself. And I wasn’t always at the top of the scale. I know I have flaws. There were a few hotties running around that made me look like an albino whale. But the point was, I was treating myself, not with unqualified love, but as an object to be judged.
Taking the scale away, everyone plops down onto even footing – and there’s interest in people, but it’s curiosity and appreciation, not judgment and deliberation, that occurs. We’re all diverse, different; our bodies are unique, wonderful; big or small, fat or thin, whatever color or shape – it’s all quite crazily delightful to behold.
When I’m not cracking jokes about people’s exposed cracks, I’m blissed out, not stressed out, not feeling tense with horror and disgust, but calm and easy-going – the way you should be at the beach.
But the critical lens is addictive. It’s funnier to make fun of people than it is to look at them with an all-encompassing lovingkindness. And there’s always this fear that if you don’t keep your measuring stick handy, someone else will whip one out. Kind of like Judge, so that you can get your digs in first vs. judge not, lest you be judged.
Being critical can also feel addictive because it can feel like it is real, logical, right. That person’s ass really IS huge, that person’s boobs really ARE fake, those people really DO act obnoxiously, etc etc. I really AM too fat in the tummy, my eyes ARE too small, my skin is TOO freckly, I’m not pretty enough, not good enough, etc. etc.
The thing is, there’s a difference between noticing something – noticing reality – and making a judgment about it. The thing might be real – the qualitative assessment is subjective. Why do I have to rate anyone’s appearance, including my own? Why do I need to parade myself and everyone else down some invisible runway for the c-list stars to analyze? Why can’t I just let everyone be whatever and whomever they are?
Despite its addiction, I found I could let this lens (mostly) go. And then it seemed easy to move through the day – less friction, less fault-finding, less annoyance.
People-watching was more fun. And I didn’t feel like I was separate from everyone else, set apart. I felt like I was part of the party. And it was good.
into the park 