hello hypocrite

How is it that we experience ourselves? Yes, I realize that this question is perhaps both somewhat tired and unanswerable. Still, if we are limited to originality of thought or inquiry then I am afraid we, as species, must live in either solitude or silence. Anyone who knows me knows that while I am prone to both in spells, I am just as likely to crave connection and communication. So, please, permit me the indulgence of asking…

The past five days have challenged my perception of my own experience of self—physicality and personality included. First, I was challenged on an academic level. Though, I admit that the intellectual is often visceral for me as well. Then in conversations with Joceny, I was pushed once again to question the way I think of this body I inhabit. Then finally, in thinking of M.’s letter, still unanswered, and my anger towards it, I was forced to examine anew the conclusions I have drawn in the last hours and days.

The only thing that I am certain of— aside from the fact that I should always eat before my second (or third or fourth) glass of wine—is that I am terrible hypocrite. When Joceny (who is quickly becoming one of my favorite debate partners) pushed me on my own physicality and sexuality, after much rambling I confessed that I often disconnect from myself. Let me clarify: during the rambling stage I claimed truthfully that I think of myself as a thousand things before attractive or unattractive, desirable or not. She replied that the hierarchy of my self-perception didn’t respond to the question at hand. Then when backed into a metaphorical corner, I snapped that while I am very aware of my own attractions in all their forms—that I am a very sensual person, as in acutely aware of my senses— I do not generally think of, am not generally aware of my own physical presence.

Fair enough (or not), except that when M. wrote a deeply confessional letter about the violence inflicted on her physical being in a highly theoretical and intellectual prose, I was furious with her. That’s right: not only am I a hypocrite, I’m also a bad friend. Having experienced such violence myself, I instinctively questioned the legitimacy of her disassociation with her physical being. Because I have the good sense not to respond in anger, I wrote notes to myself. Good coping technique… too bad it’s total crap. Is it? Of course… theorize our bodies, intellectualize our emotions, great… but we still live in them.

I don’t think I need to draw further attention to the irony of this reaction. (Okay, I will draw attention: I know that I intellectualize too much. No, no, I just think too much.) But let me momentarily dwell on the problem of it: both sentiments—my own occasional disassociation with my physical being in favor of my intellect and my fury at M’s own very similar process—were true and genuine. Now maybe this only goes to prove that we are all complex beings and that there is no one truth or experience… but since I am not satisfied with that so-called truth, I have a feeling that I’ll be up late again tonight…