I love the new 90210. I love the old Beverly Hills 90210. I even had a roommate who looked like Dylan McKay, but was named Brendon (close to Branden, right?). I cried when it ended and rejoiced when it came back--cheesier, trashier and completely nonsensical. When it comes down to it, I love the TV. This is one of my deepest truths and I know it really makes me very non-culturally creative and so not PBS (because, yes I know PBS is great, I do like it, but love it, not so much).
Last night the show featured yoga--so I loved it a little more. The girls (who apparently have no discernable parents) escape their terribly stressful existence to hit a yoga retreat. There was this story about two wolves, some Native American tale, that may or may not be real. Apparently, according to a fictional guru (who will later turn out to be a cult leader on the show, so riveting, right?), we each have two wolves inside us. There is the good wolf-who is fab, godly, sweet and full of love. And of course, the opposing bad wolf--who is basically a giant a-hole and jerk--feeding us with negative thoughts. The wolves are engaged in a battle and the winner will be the wolf we choose to feed. Profound for 90210-right?
It made me think about so many things. Like my bad tendency to enjoy gossip (I like to believe everyone enjoys it) and my tendency to make everything a competition. I realize that I've come a long, long way. Before kids and all the trauma, I was pretty much feeding my bad wolf a lot. I was a shark at work (successful, but unhappy). I was a terrible friend (sorry girls, but I sucked). And I sure Mike thought about kicking me and my bad attitude to the curb. I really could have been one of those snot-nosed rich kids on 90210.
Then really bad stuff happened in my life. I got sick. Lily was born at 29 weeks. Then she got a brain tumor. Then I got sick again and Chloe was born at 31 weeks. And the PR girl in me kicked in--telling everyone, "Hey, it is all okay. Everything will be great. Stay positive." And the competitor in me thrived--like when a doctor told me Lily would never run a marathon (this was before she was even born) and I vowed that Lily would do what ever she wanted. I found hope, because I had nothing else. And slowly, but surely, I was feeding my good wolf.
What I've discovered, wolf-wise, is that whatever you tell yourself is the truth. It is the only truth. If you tell yourself that in order to be successful, you have to squash and oppress those around you--well, then you will be the oppressor and thus oppress your inner goodness. But if you give yourself hope and light--then you will be hope. And I really like being hope. And watching TV.
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Last night the show featured yoga--so I loved it a little more. The girls (who apparently have no discernable parents) escape their terribly stressful existence to hit a yoga retreat. There was this story about two wolves, some Native American tale, that may or may not be real. Apparently, according to a fictional guru (who will later turn out to be a cult leader on the show, so riveting, right?), we each have two wolves inside us. There is the good wolf-who is fab, godly, sweet and full of love. And of course, the opposing bad wolf--who is basically a giant a-hole and jerk--feeding us with negative thoughts. The wolves are engaged in a battle and the winner will be the wolf we choose to feed. Profound for 90210-right?
It made me think about so many things. Like my bad tendency to enjoy gossip (I like to believe everyone enjoys it) and my tendency to make everything a competition. I realize that I've come a long, long way. Before kids and all the trauma, I was pretty much feeding my bad wolf a lot. I was a shark at work (successful, but unhappy). I was a terrible friend (sorry girls, but I sucked). And I sure Mike thought about kicking me and my bad attitude to the curb. I really could have been one of those snot-nosed rich kids on 90210.
Then really bad stuff happened in my life. I got sick. Lily was born at 29 weeks. Then she got a brain tumor. Then I got sick again and Chloe was born at 31 weeks. And the PR girl in me kicked in--telling everyone, "Hey, it is all okay. Everything will be great. Stay positive." And the competitor in me thrived--like when a doctor told me Lily would never run a marathon (this was before she was even born) and I vowed that Lily would do what ever she wanted. I found hope, because I had nothing else. And slowly, but surely, I was feeding my good wolf.
What I've discovered, wolf-wise, is that whatever you tell yourself is the truth. It is the only truth. If you tell yourself that in order to be successful, you have to squash and oppress those around you--well, then you will be the oppressor and thus oppress your inner goodness. But if you give yourself hope and light--then you will be hope. And I really like being hope. And watching TV.
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