Passionate about purple leg warmers, grueling butt
exercises, and the eradication of oil pipelines, Jane Fonda and I share a great
deal in common. Before I had yoga videos, I had Jane Fonda’s advanced cardio
workout. It was something upsetting like one hour and forty five minutes. But
Jane never seemed to tire and it was thus with great enthusiasm that I followed
along with the bouncing, pumping and squeezing of various body parts. My hair
was more dishevelled than Jane’s perfect feathered down-do, my sweat, more
profuse, and my ten-year-old athletic wear much less spectacular than her belted
pink and purple leotard, her grey leggings, and of course, the excellent purple
legwarmers. Even so, Jane never made me feel alienated from her supreme and
elite fitness endeavours. In fact, as Jane rapidly whipped through ninety-six and a
half tricep kickbacks, I felt like she was looking right at
me.
“Resist,” she urged me. I did, determined to overthrow the
wobble of my underarms. What does Oprah call those? Flags. How ridiculous.
Although flags and Oprah have their place. I used to watch Oprah on Wednesday
afternoons, my only night off from swim practice. That’s how I learned about
Jesus whispers. One day the show was about people who had made some sort of horrible
distracted mistake that had ended in someone dying. There was a woman who had
backed her car over her grandchild, and another who had fallen asleep at the
wheel and driven her car full of her kids over a cliff. A third woman, who had
hit and killed a cyclist felt like the whole thing could have been prevented
had she listened to the voice inside her head.
“Those are Jesus whispers,” Oprah told her. “And I wanna thank you for coming on the show today because now everybody out there watching will know not to doubt that voice ever again.”
On our Epic Day anniversaries, the Boatman and I wrote similar things
on our cards. For now, the Boatman’s cards to me are stored in a box in
Halifax. I remember the drawings of the moon, and the gist of most of the words.
“I’m so grateful and lucky to have met you.” “Nobody else is as wonderful as you.” “I could never find anybody else but you to talk to about potty training and poops, and the dress-up box." "I'm so glad our friend to moon helped us get together." “I can’t imagine what my life would be like without you.”
But my token fly-to-India-and-have a meaningful-revelation-about-your-life was, “You kind of completely hate Halifax, and you’ve barely
been happy for a really long time.” When I melted down to the Boatman over
FaceTime, the first thing he said was, “Well, I really can’t move.” There
wasn’t much to be done, but fly home and see what happened.
My first day back in Halifax, I obsessively calculated how much money I would have to save if I wanted to get back to India the following November. If I was going to stay in Halifax, every year would need a decisive exit strategy. The financial verdict was about 900 extra bucks a month, tricky in Halifax, the land of Nepotism and Underemployment. Still, I could give it a try and hope for the best. I wasn’t ready to fuck off just yet. The Boatman and I avoided discussing the situation and I went about my days, struggling to breathe.
Seventy-seven years old, Jane Fonda says that “when a woman is older, sex
is better. Partly because she doesn’t give a fuzzy rat’s ass anymore… she knows
her body, she knows what she wants, she’s less afraid to ask for it. If it
doesn’t work out, so what?” (Jane Fonda, on Death, Sex & Money). I think that’s great. From
now on, I will aim to have sex like I’m seventy-seven.
Every day can be an Epic Day. The moon is always your
friend.
Happy Epic Day, to the world, and to the Boatman.
I’m so grateful and lucky to have met you. We are so lucky for the time we had together.
The End.
Subscribe to Anna Sale’s Death, Sex and Money on Itunes. New Episodes come out every other Wednesday! And it's free!
Follow Jane Fonda on Twitter: @JaneFonda
Follow Anna Sale on Twitter: @annasale
Follow Death, Sex & Money on Twitter: @deathsexmoney
 |
| Resist. Photo From Here. |
“Those are Jesus whispers,” Oprah told her. “And I wanna thank you for coming on the show today because now everybody out there watching will know not to doubt that voice ever again.”
Oh Oprah. Despite listening very intently, I never had much
luck with the Jesus Whispers. Fortunately, Jane Fonda’s voice on a podcast
called “Death, Sex & Money,” had a similar effect. The podcast transcript
came out on June 18, 2014, which happened to be the third-year anniversary of Epic
Day, the wonderful day when I met the Boatman on a boat at my friend Fern’s
wedding. After that, I moved to Halifax and we lived happily ever after.
On the podcast, Jane (my dear friend) spoke about her
divorce with billionaire cable executive Ted Turner, her third husband. Ted was
fun and good-looking, and he had a beautiful home on beautiful acreage. Being married to Ted was easy and “safe.” Then,
about ten years in, Jane had the revelation “that if I stayed with him, I could never be a fully realized person” (Jane Fonda in Episode 30 of the Death, Sex & Money podcast, with Anna Sale). This is
where the Jesus slash Angel Whispers came into play. Said Jane:
“I felt like
Virginia Woolf, only I had two angels in the house. One on one shoulder saying
oh come on Fonda lighten up!
The guy’s got
two million acres of the most gorgeous land in the world and he’s funny and he
keeps you laughing. And on the other shoulder there was an angel with a very
soft whisper saying, Jane, you can stay with him and die married, but you’ll
die not being whole. And so I opted for the whisper" (from Episode 30 of the podcast Death, Sex & Money: Jane Fonda After Death and Divorce).
The notion of being a fully realized person is rather vague. And
probably, everyone is always whole, whether they listen to their angel whispers
or not. But I get what Jane meant. Before I moved to Halifax, I had just come
to the end of more than a decade-long relationship with eating disorders. My most
prevalent symptom was puking in my mouth, over and over again until whatever I
had eaten became bitter and acidic and disgusting. While I was in the throws of my eating disorder, I always imagined that
the eradication of my symptoms would coincide with the emergence of a new and
beautiful Erica. A Whole Erica, who didn’t fret about silly things, who didn’t
get overwhelmed and melt down, who didn’t fight with her mother. All this and
more would be the prize for not puking in my mouth. It is hard to do things
without expecting a prize in return. Fame, Money, Weight Loss, Prizes, Sex.
(FMWLPS). I want all of these things, though perhaps finally I can do without
the weight loss. One big prize that I felt would surely make me Whole was
finding a long-term partner. Until I met the Boatman, success in this area had
been minimal. There was Simon the hermit, who I met on a biodegradable yoga mat. In the name of art, we got
drunk and fucked around as we attempted to write and publish our
groundbreaking epistolary novel, The Little Savage and the Hermit. Despite the
creative excitement and exhilarating recklessness, mostly it felt messy and not
that whole. One day, after waking up with Simon in a room that reeked of vomit
and vodka, it occurred to me that perhaps I needed a year off from
relationships. Somehow I would get myself out of Montreal, take my space, and
figure myself out, whatever that meant.
Less than a month later, I met the Boatman. We had our Epic Day. Beneath the light and guidance of our friend the Full Moon, the profuse making out began. Of course the Boatman was wonderful. Of course the day and the night were magical. And when the Boatman invited me to come live in his house in Halifax, of course I said yes.
Although I was never particularly enamored with Halifax, like Jane
Fonda’s marriage to Ted Turner, living with the Boatman was safe and relatively
easy. The Boatman was fun, supportive and loving. Unlike Simon, who mostly considered
me to be a fucked up disaster, the Boatman believed in me as a person. I was
set up in a house with a hedge and a dog. The Boatman’s mother bought me fancy
clothes. For the first year or two, I had lots of time and space to practice
and teach yoga, and write. And when I got the job at the Montessori school, the
Boatman supported me through my perpetual state of overwhelm. Less than a month later, I met the Boatman. We had our Epic Day. Beneath the light and guidance of our friend the Full Moon, the profuse making out began. Of course the Boatman was wonderful. Of course the day and the night were magical. And when the Boatman invited me to come live in his house in Halifax, of course I said yes.
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| Me and the Hedge Clippers |
“I’m so grateful and lucky to have met you.” “Nobody else is as wonderful as you.” “I could never find anybody else but you to talk to about potty training and poops, and the dress-up box." "I'm so glad our friend to moon helped us get together." “I can’t imagine what my life would be like without you.”
Whoever you are with, it can’t be like anyone else. We are all precious
and irreplaceable. I couldn’t imagine what my life would be like without the
Boatman. Yet when I listened to Jane Fonda speak of her angel whispers, I was
sad to realize that deep down, I didn’t believe I was capable of pulling off
life on my own. If I hadn’t left Montreal, would my life still be infused with
vomit and vodka and Simon, all the way until he jumped off a building?
Oh well, I thought, the first time I heard Jane on the podcast. There was
no way we were going to break up. That September, I went to India for three
months. I missed the Boatman immensely;
however, I discovered that in fact, I could maintain some kind of autonomy without
him. I lived in four different apartments; I organized day trips, and Butt
Club, and even coined the term "Spiritual Pants." Every day, there was someone to eat curry with. The entire thing was so
delightful.  |
| Spiritual Pants |
My first day back in Halifax, I obsessively calculated how much money I would have to save if I wanted to get back to India the following November. If I was going to stay in Halifax, every year would need a decisive exit strategy. The financial verdict was about 900 extra bucks a month, tricky in Halifax, the land of Nepotism and Underemployment. Still, I could give it a try and hope for the best. I wasn’t ready to fuck off just yet. The Boatman and I avoided discussing the situation and I went about my days, struggling to breathe.
Finally one day in February, the Boatman replied to my ten
thousandth anguished rant about friendlessness and loneliness with the words,
“You could leave.” I felt a distinct sense of relief and I paused briefly before
deciding that I should mourn and wail, since his words meant my world was
collapsing.
I made an appointment with my psychologist, who I called My
Expensive Friend. He happened to be one of only a handful of friends that I had
made in Halifax, after more than three years. My Expensive Friend didn’t think that
I should do anything too drastic in February. He helped me to write down goals
on Index Cards. Go to a potluck. Invite your friend Lindsay out for dinner.
Organize the Halifax Butt Club.  |
| Halifax Butt Club. Note the Purple Legwarmers Mysore Butt Club, Et. Al. |
 |
| Jane Fonda Butt Club. See how we are similar? Photo taken from this dizzying video. |
Although the Halifax Butt Club enjoyed two rousing sessions,
it was all too little too late. For Valentine’s Day, the podcast Death, Sex & Money rounded up highlights from the past year of interviews. Sure enough, as I
trudged up the hill to the Boatman’s house, Jane told me about her angel
whispers once again.
“Jane, you can
stay with him and die married, but you’ll die not being whole. And so I opted
for the whisper.”
Soon it would be
time. I was gone by the end of April.
As Dan Savage says, a relationship isn’t only a success if
it ends when somebody dies. Unfortunately, our children’s diapers and underwear
are covered with princesses, and our world seems to hold a bias for the Forever
After People. The good news is that all of the people - me, you, Jane and
everybody else- all of us are whole.
Some people’s paths may lead them along with one person by
their side the whole time. Surely, this can be beautiful. I may have a shot at this
later. In the meantime, I get to be a little bit like Jane Fonda. Depending on your
Jesus whispers, you might considering joining the club.  |
| Jane Fonda speaks out about Fossil Fuels. Go Jane. Image taken from this page. |
Four years ago today, I met the Boatman on a boat, and he
kissed me under the moon.
In fact, the first time we met wasn’t actually on the boat.
We met some other time, in Fern’s kitchen. I made the boat part up, for the
sake of the Blogging Fairy Tale. I am as terrible as the folks who make
princess diapers. Oh well.  |
| Boatman and Me, Blogging Fairy Tale |
Happy Epic Day, to the world, and to the Boatman.
I’m so grateful and lucky to have met you. We are so lucky for the time we had together.
The End.
Subscribe to Anna Sale’s Death, Sex and Money on Itunes. New Episodes come out every other Wednesday! And it's free!
Follow Jane Fonda on Twitter: @JaneFonda
Follow Anna Sale on Twitter: @annasale
Follow Death, Sex & Money on Twitter: @deathsexmoney
 |
|
The Boatman and Me, Again. Well, we made some cute
photos for the internet. One More:
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