There isn’t much better than sex.
Sex is good. It drives TV shows, makes babies, motivates; a sexy crush can get you out of bed in the morning. Apparently sex burns calories, although I read recently that a ten minute sex session is the equivalent of a four minute walk (that may have been the other way round) so sex may not be the work out we’ve been led to believe. I don’t care. Drop and give me twenty!
Of course there are drawbacks to sex.
There is a limit to where you can do it; underground car parks, stadiums, the back of popular nightspots, have cameras everywhere. Being busted by your kids on YouTube is not the New Black. And there is a limit to how long you get to do it for, let’s face it, longer isn’t always better, but long is good. Plus, there are limits to who you get to have sex with. Daniel Craig isn’t returning my calls and Catherine Zeta Jones doesn’t even know who I am.
Sex is a lot of sweat and energy and cleaning up for roughly eight minutes of distraction.
Want to know what’s better?
Letting go is where it’s at.
Picture this. My sister Libby is dead, my parents have just returned from their overseas trip (they left about six weeks after she died), and while they’ve been away, my other sister, Erin, my brother, Anthony, and Libby’s partner, Darren, and I, have been dealing with the aftermath. The death certificate, clearing out Libby’s clothes – I have never spent a more intense Saturday in my life – basically trying to keep each other together. My parents get back having missed the whole thing and they want to talk about their holiday. We hardly speak about Libby. I am incensed. I spend most of my time trying to be nowhere near them. I complain to Erin who is being way more philosophical than I want her to be. I can’t think properly and my relationships are suffering.
What am I going to do?
Be mad forever?
I am learning things since Libby died.
The biggest thing I’m trying to get from it is to pay attention and I can’t pay attention when I’m angry. Seeing red? Well, to an extent that’s true. When we’re angry we’re not objective.
My parents went overseas and missed all the fun. So? If they were here there would have been two more people crying their eyes out and that wouldn’t have made it any better. And I know they were in pain. Of course, they were, they’d just lost their daughter. Mum saw her child’s dead body, that sentence makes me cry. How did she do it? I understand that I’ll miss Libby forever and think about her daily, but to lose your child? Sometimes, I try to imagine how that must feel, I think about my sons, get about ten seconds into the imagining and have to stop. It’s too awful and it’s only a fantasy.
Forgiveness isn’t forgetting, I don’t have a magic amnesia button in my head, but it is letting go. Throughout our lives people wrong us, it happens to everyone. And it is fine, useful, to be angry. Anger is part of the process. Pain, blame, anger, assertion if you are lucky, then if you are lucky again, letting go.
So my parents have failed me. I have failed them. I will fail my children. I don’t like it but I do believe it. Still, I’m failing myself most of all if I allow resentment to do the driving.
I didn’t think I could let go of my anger. It took a day or three. There was effort involved. I had to say it aloud, more than once, come on, your parents are doing the best they can, give it a rest. I said it in the car. I said it in Target. I said it because I wanted it. Forgiveness will not happen unless you want it. All my talk, it worked. Yes, I’m learning.
Does forgiveness feel better than sex? Today it feels pretty good but I guess time will tell. Will Daniel Craig and I ever make beautiful music together? Probably not, but a girl can dream, and I do. Does forgiveness burn calories?
Anger? Dude, I’m just not that into you.
don’t worry, be bready