I dream dreams but they often crash up against unexpected realities. In our world of “lookism” where appearance is judged important, we tend to see people in terms of their outer shell. Even weatherpersons must be stunning with big hair.
I too yearn for the enviable appearance of a Greek Adonis. I pursue my vain dreams by working out at the gym each week. I pump up my abs, biceps, quads, gluts, and cardio muscles to Greek proportions. How has the Adonis struggle been going? Have the lifts, curls and presses brought me the appearance I’d hoped for?
Almost. But then suddenly the gym work became irrelevant. Of the 640 muscles in my body, 639 were just fine. One was not! That one offending muscle bit me and quickly superseded all the others. It was the sphincter muscle – the very last muscle I want to think or talk about. You see, I am a refined guy. I read poetry or sip Grand cru wine. I think about chamber music – not sphincters.
But that little puppy just would not be denied. A slight imperfection, a little fissure in my case, and that muscle made every minute a living hell. A faulty sphincter does not whisper discomfort – it screams alarm! It demands top billing over every other concern in your life. I was brought to the disgusting truth; nobody can endure that kind of pain. Fortunately, I chose surgery and the problem was solved.
Moving quickly on and upward, was there any meaning to this vulgar nightmare? Yes. To me, it is the glaring irony between the heroic “Adonis wannabe” versus who we really are.
My whole vain appearance sits on (if I may say) fragile bottom. It is not reassuring that my self-image dreams can be dashed by one single muscle.
What about the true Adonis celebrities we see? World leaders, famous athletes or even the gorgeous weather people? Do they too endure unmentionable ailments? Those who’s appearance dreams have come true, those who win the “Good looks lottery”, and show up on the glossy covers or prime time TV- none of them ever needed a sphincterotomy?
The split between that unmentionable private reality and their lofty public persona must be painful irony. They apparently cope. I respect and admire their grace under stress. They are a comfort to the rest of us reconciling our own dreams with reality.