Wow.

These are just a few examples.  Click for larger views.

I was at an audition yesterday, slinking around the waiting area, as you do.  There was a group of older women there, as well as a few of us scattered males.  The women looked to be in their 50s, and all were very beautiful.  They were clearly models, the type of women that caused traffic accidents in their 20s but now go largely ignored because their hair is gray and they have wrinkles around the eyes, which is a shame.  Not that they should still be causing accidents, but that we don’t prize beauty beyond the age of 30.  At any rate, I was perfectly content to stay in that room for a few minutes and enjoy the scenery, though I was dismayed to see that nearly all of these women were doing little more than gossiping and chatting with each other.  Once a model, always a model, I suppose.  But across from me there was this one, lone woman reading a book.  A book of the “self-help” variety, something with a title like, “Racing to Catch Up,” which most of her compatriots would surely ridicule, if they could in fact read the title.

Before I go any further, I should point out that “self-help” is a misnomer.  It’s “help.”  There’s another person involved, namely the author of the book.  So, there’s little point pretending you’re doing it all by yourself.  But we’re stuck with the label because Americans like to add the prefix “self-“ to anything they can.  It makes them feel in touch with their pioneer roots.  Self-awareness, for example, is just awareness.  If it’s limited to the self, you’re screwed, because that bus is barreling down the avenue and you might want to notice it.  Just an FYI.  Anyway, I happen to love “self-help” books.  I read them voraciously.  Most of them say the same thing, “Think positive, make a plan,” that kind of thing, but there’s always some little unique kernel of gold in them that I can extrapolate, and I think because I’m making so many fundamental changes to who I am, what I am, where I am, how I am, that if I can saturate my brain with these messages, something should come out of it.  And it has.  I’ve learned that it’s okay to want to change, and that change is, forgive me, self-controlled.

So, to the woman sitting there racing to catch up, as the pretty people around her complimented each other’s latest haircut, I applaud you.  You are my sister, and I wish you well.  Ignore the smirks that accompany the reactions to the titles of the books you read, and every undermining comment that these books are for suckers.  Perhaps, just perhaps, the suckers are the ones who don’t know that a mirror is for more than checking eyeliner.  But we wish them well.

For the Mineralava Musings, this is Edoardo Ballerini.