I wish I was obsessive.

28 Dec

My son and I saw Les Miserables this week. It was as good as I had hoped, maybe even better. I have been singing ever since. The performances by well known actors, not known for their singing, was extraordinary, as was their physical preparation for their roles.

I was reading about Anne Hathaway’s crash dieting (haven’t seen the same written about Hugh Jackman, though he was as drastically thin – hmm.) Anyway, she lost 10 lbs prior to filming, then another 15 in 13 days. For those two weeks she ate one wafer made of oatmeal paste, per day. The result was a believably bony, starving person. She talked about being very obsessively competitive about her craft, which allowed her to maintain this level of preparation. I so admire that, even while the concept of obsessive competitiveness completely eludes my comprehension.

Now, don’t get me wrong. I do not aspire to be a bony, starving person. The trouble is, I don’t much aspire to be anything! Sure, I would like to lose about 10 pounds. I eat well enough, work out pretty consistently, might be within fairly easy reach of my physical ideal. But if something smells good, or a girlfriend wants to go out for margaritas, or my husband wants to spend the weekend watching a Sopranos marathon, I am perfectly willing to forgo high protein and hot yoga in order to indulge.

Same with work, creativity, home repair. I like the idea of being an expert at something, at having my writing published, at finally repainting the interiors in my home. I dabble at all these things, but I rarely dive in with full resources and accomplish much. And I am pretty much ok about it. I might sigh ruefully the next time I notice cracks in the ceiling paint, but I notice it when I’m comfy: on the couch with the paper; in bed upon waking. I am too comfy to really care.

The real problem? I think it is that I am TOO HAPPY. Happy people don’t obsess.

I would make a TERRIBLE cast member of Les Miserables. No pun intended.


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