I want to keep blogging here on the regular so I better throw something down. Counting down to meeting some other Grounded Parents writers and Skepchicks, plus an upcoming China trip. Things are a bit busy.
With two minutes left to get something up, I give you a recent convo with my daughter —
I’ve now told this story about a diet gone very wrong many times (spoiler: cake and a trash can) and I usually say, towards the end, that I’m now working on being healthy in every sense of the word — spirit and body blah blah blah. Well, I recently dusted the story off after some time and I found that at rehearsal that part felt weird to me. Inauthentic. Because the truth is I’m not working on that anymore. I’m just fine the way I am.
Don’t fix yourself. Be yourself. <—- possibly my new mantra thanks to a group of hilarious and talented women I’m working with. More on that later but weird notable thing — I’m the one who said those words! Copyright 2015, Jenny Splitter. Put it on a fucking picture with clouds in the background! Put it on a coffee cup! (Call me, Starbucks!)
That’s where I’m at. I eat whatever I want. Some days that is frosting. Some days that is triple cream cheese on a multigrain cracker. Some days that’s a salad. Some days all three! — breakfast, lunch and dinner!
I think you get the point. I eat what I want, when I want it. It turns out when I totally indulge my desire for frosting, I’m kind of good for a while. And of course I only eat fucking delicious amazing frosting. We’re not talking Duncan Hines from a can (Shudder).
I also work out like a damn maniac. I run 2x a week, cycle/yoga 2 x a week, and power lift 2 x a week. And I love it. I am obsessed with it. It’s great for anxiety. Also, it’s about what I’m gaining — stronger, more energetic, more flexible — and not what I need to lose.
So. That’s it. That’s my secret to life. You’re welcome.
First of all, how important am I to be in the title of a blog post that’s all about my fallacious reasoning skills? Exciting! Can I just say that I love how I manage to get haters before I have fans?
Kinda like how exactly no one has asked me hey are you working out? but some lady in my Power Lift class told me I was on my way to looking like a linebacker. SERIOUSLY? Isn’t there a step in between Pillsbury dough boy and linebacker??? Fucking hell.
Now, I would post this response over at Grounded Parents but, um, wee confession — after I wrote that piece I sort of realized I had published it there accidentally as it actually has nothing to do with parenting. Oops. Embarrassing. Oh well. We, uh, didn’t have much going up over there at the time anyway since we were under DDoS attack or something. Second confession: I have no idea what the hell a DDoS attack is really other than it’s a thing that totally messes up your website. But it happens periodically and I just nod sympathetically like I totally get it. Internet gnomes, amirite? Anyway.
Kudos, Emil Karlsson, on a very well-reasoned, logical argument. There’s no evidence that gluten free sensitivity exists, and my criticism of the skeptical position fails for various reasons described in meticulous detail at the link above. But my piece isn’t about refuting the skeptical position on gluten free sensitivity. It’s actually about communication.
Time and again, skeptics write pieces that read like — hey, dumb asshole, here’s the science that you just aren’t getting. You suck at life, you dumb asshole. And lo, the troops are rallied and skeptics pump their fists like The Situation in his heyday. But is anyone actually convinced of anything new? Does this win anyone over? Does anyone change their mind?
Ok, the answer is actually sometimes. Clearly, the pro-science ranks have swelled in part because skeptics weren’t afraid to get down, dirty and mean in the trenches. That’s cool. I totally get it. Sometimes I even like it. I just don’t find it very interesting anymore. But what do I know? I’d kind of rather be watching Vanderpump Rules anyway.
I just wonder whether there isn’t a point at which you reach all of the folks you’re going to reach, and then the rest becomes just shouting into your echo chamber.
Listen, I get the appeal of the echo chamber. Sometimes I step out of mine and I’m like, holy shit, there are a lot of racist, sexist, transphobic idiot Americans out there! And then I thank God (not literally, you smug atheists!) that I live in an overpriced rowhouse in the hippest neighborhood in America and I celebrate my mother-fucking echo chamber with a mother-fucking craft beer. But then eventually I get bored again. Because echo chambers are boring. Engagement is interesting. Ok, engagement is a buzz word. So how about conversation? I’m just talking about conversation — a conversation with the people not eating gluten.