Devorah's Diary, Spiritually Intact In A Superficial World

Dear Diary,

A DJ, no wait, Marla Maples saved my life last night.

It was one of those days in which everything was perfect – the weather was alarmingly kind. You know that temperature, it’s a perfect lukewarm that allows you to wear anything you want sans shawl… Strangely enough, I had been sporting brand new kitten heels since the morning and they hadn’t even begun to pinch. As I strolled up Madison Avenue, I searched for imperfections everywhere, ANYWHERE – I wanted to find something off. But the iconic street simply refused to cooperate. Of course it wouldn’t, Madison Avenue at night is divine – boutiques so craftily put together that as you pass them one by one, it feels as though you're walking through the pages of Vogue. Only when I arrived at my destination did I realize what was off.

Me!

I didn't know exactly what it was, but I could feel it. What first felt like a tiny little hole in my stomach quickly grew, expanded, pulsed.

“Hi,” I said to my friends with a slight smile as the feeling traveled up my throat. I sat down.The feeling was now traveling down my arms. I was sitting between a good friend and Marla Maples. “So what have you been up to?” my friend asked.

The thing about “projects” in this town is that sometimes you can’t talk about them, and it’s even worse to talk about not being able to talk about them, and so the only way out is… “Stuff,” I say with a nod, “Lots of stuff. You know, like, really amazing fun stuff. But not too much fun. It’s hard work stuff too.”

The worst part about sounding like a moron is having to listen to yourself as you step, one dainty toe-to-heal, into the idiot grave. “Wow, that sounds really interesting, Devorah.” “Yeah,” I replied. I tend to be at the peak of my most interesting when no one is looking. Unfortunately - or perhaps, fortunately - at all other moments my Pandora’s box of crazy is a full service 7-11 (pink dogs are in aisle one, boxes of drama are next to the cereal, heartthrobs are stacked by the donuts and crazy ex-best friends are, inescapably, at the cash register…so I recommend that you opt for the lottery ticket).

But no matter how I feel or what is going on in my life, I’m always ready to go *there.* If you ask, I will tell you. If you share, I will share. I don’t wear my heart on my sleeve; it’s tucked safely away in my left pocket but if you want to see it, I’ll bring it out. I’m proud of all its little ridges, the soft tissue next to taut scars, a glittering aorta…

That night we went *there.* We had a deep and meaningful conversation. Marla talked about spirituality and the ideals she lives by. So many of the things she said felt emotionally true to me. And I’ve always known that when you are traversing a superficial world you have to attempt to stay spiritually intact. Nonetheless, it always helps to have a friendly reminder. Marla was more than that. Sitting next to me, she was a woman who had found her place in the world.

After a long chat, I mentioned, half-kiddingly, “I really need red string.”

And then suddenly - almost magically - there was red string. Marla placed it on my wrist and prayed over me. It was the perfect end to what had started off as a perfect day. But while I had spent most of the day enjoying the beauty around me, I finally felt it inside as well.