Enjoyment instead of frustration
It was a harmless bottle of mineral water that overflowed the proverbial cask. "Mineral water?", Commented my girlfriend a bit pointed. "Does that take your stomach with you?" And on my uncomprehending look, "Carbonic acid is like acid in the stomach like gastric acid, all right?" In this endeavored patient tone I never liked. Mineral water, I thought. What's next? Anyway, our regular small lunches have hardly ever slipped in the direction of enjoyable revelry anyway. Anyway, the traditional "Three Martini Lunch" only takes place in Dallas retakes, and we "ladies who lunch" usually forgo a glass of white wine with crab salad. We push the bread basket aside as if its contents are offensive, and we do not pay any attention to the dessert menu. Of course, coffee is only sipped without caffeine and it is discussed whether milk in the brew makes it harmful or less harmful.
Did I say milk? Excuse me. Of course, I meant soymilk. I have long since lost track because both the slim line and the health pose such contradictory and rapidly changing demands as two aging divas joking that they are driving their assistants to insanity: Raw fish! No, only vegetables! No, but rather a steak! But good by!
Who should come along?
Today, it's all about slags rather than joie de vivre
After all, it is clear that the idea of lighting a cigarette after eating is even more outlandish than pulling a gun out of a purse and shooting at the waiters. Instead, we fetch well-shaped jars before dinner, in which we stylishly hide our vitamins and other remedies. Ceremonially swallow this and that, and then guarantees one: "Calcium and coffee, that's not possible." "Vitamin E you should not with ..." "From refined sugar I get ..." "I have not eaten wheat for a week and my digestion ..."
When were we so unbearably boring, so cautious, prudent, so - do I make it over the lips - become REASONABLE? Since when are our bodily functions so important? When did we stop discussing things like stolen kisses and nights gone by, making wild plans, like flooding the streets of our hometown with art? Today, on the other hand, everything is about slags. Yes, slags. These evil-smelling black deposits of our sins. Of which we, even if we are "otherwise" non-Catholic, hope for absolution. By allowing only pure thoughts. I mean of course: pure food. Slag-free food. Guaranteed deposit-free.
As if there were such a thing. Honestly. In general, the Zeitgeist slowly but surely takes on religious forms: the compulsion to work on oneself, to constantly improve oneself, has something missionary about it. The Ten Commandments are not against the rules that we face today - voluntarily? - subject. Thou shalt not enjoy, that's what it usually starts with. You should not let yourself go. You should not get old. Or if so, then do not let it look at you. You should not go out of their way. You should not let up. You should surpass yourself, again and again. You are to conquer your body. You should be stronger. As life. As death.
Anyone who thinks we live in an anything-goes society has not looked around for a long time - for example in a bookstore. The self-help departments occupy ever larger areas. Here we kneel and promise improvement. Yes, I vow it. I will go the "seven ways to effectiveness" and learn the "five languages of love". I will "think and get rich" and "beautiful as a top model". Not to forget "popular and influential". I'm getting "carefree in minutes," and why not "re-create" me right now? When we're at it.
Vacation? No! Every free minute should be used to work on yourself
Oh, it's exhausting! Everything must always make sense! In every free minute I should work on myself. Even on weekends and during holidays - I mean of course: in the seminar, in the workshop and in the retreat. We conquer high mountains and process early childhood trauma - preferably simultaneously. Quick, who can sit still the longest? Learn to walk with sticks, who knows what it's good for. Use your time, it will not last forever!
I dream of a politically completely reprehensible holiday with high palm trees and white beach, blue sky. Does anyone remember that? Roast in the sun (wrinkles! Skin cancer!), Eat ice cream (calories! Salmonella! Lactose intolerance!) And read at least a thousand pages Kleenex-Literaur (mental impoverishment!). However, I am reasonably alone with this special kind of nostalgia.Or at least it feels like this: All around, the self is developed and constantly improved with tireless enthusiasm, with missionary zeal the bitchy divas pay tribute to slimness and health. While I suck in old French films in the studio cinema, sighing as well as about carefree tipping and kissing, which could take place without any addiction prevention and crisis intervention via bad perms and platform shoes.
Why is it so difficult for me to keep up with the times? Why am I so attached to my old, proven bad habits? Would Sherlock Holmes inject unabashed cocaine today? Hardly likely.
Like my grandmother, who did not want to get used to the touch-tone phone, the zeitgeist also depended on me. And sometimes I feel ancient. When I drink wine in a bar instead of sucking oxygen out of hoses. When I think of hemp not first of all eco-friendly fashion. If all I like is on the list of sins to be eradicated. When I'm lying on my lazy skin. When I find neither my girlfriends nor myself so insanely in need of improvement. When I hear more and more of the bouts of escaping: "Oh yes, before, when I was still young ... What have we there ... Children, children, these were still times!"
Yearning for the wild excesses and lightheartedness of youth
Like my grandma, I say so. What was so much better in the past? What do I miss exactly? Do I long for the excesses of my wild youth? Hardly, because, once said completely among us, that was not so wild again. No. I miss the carefreeness with which one infected himself with a cigarette without thinking about the consequences (lung cancer! Wrinkles!). With the man to bed climbed (AIDS, etc.!), Simply because they were there. I long to bathe with no guilty conscience (water supplies!) And lubricate me with a luxurious cream (animal experiments!). In short, I miss the lightheartedness not only of my youth, but of all this happy time. When we just did not know what we know today. Did not know what we did. This lost innocence. These times that are irrevocably over. You can not erase knowledge, do not close your eyes, do not imitate lightheartedness.
Already clear. But with the mineral water, that went too far.
"As you say," I said to my friend. I let the water go back and ordered instead an Irish Coffee (caffeine! Alcohol! Sugar! Animal fats!) To my grilled cancer tails (break in style! Stilbruch!). My girlfriend was speechless. The whole place looked over at me, or at least that's what I imagined. For a moment I felt like I was fifteen when I went to school in pajamas and understood that as a political statement. Unreasonable. Scared of myself. And almost alive. It was quiet for a moment. Then a woman from a neighboring table pointed to me and said: "I take the same as you!"
More about BRIGITE WOMAN author Milena Moser and her recently published book "Stutenbiss" (17.95 Euro, Blessing) at www.milenamoser.com
