Stirring the Pot (2 page)

Of course,
wanting
to conquer my fear didn’t mean
I was able to. I often threw up on my way to auditions. I chewed my nails down to nubs. But I managed to hold my fears a little more in check by keeping my eyes focused on the prize: not spending my life staring at the ceiling in my childhood bedroom. I wanted this more than a degree in special education or nursing. And I was determined not to give up on a dream for a third time.

Nude modeling didn’t require me to say a thing—and we all now know that I had success in that line of work. But when I did have to speak, I think I fooled people. Turns out I could
act
unafraid convincingly. And slowly, slowly the nausea turned to plain jitters and it seemed like my nerves were better under control.

Then came my very first motion picture acting job. God winked at me and saw to it that I was hired to play the part of a nurse—a nurturer and healer after all! The movie was
Things to Do in Denver When You’re Dead
, and I only had one line. Drumroll, please … I had to say “Hello!” and then I had to feed Christopher Walken baby food for five days. I managed the hello without throwing up. Spooning food was a snap. Baby steps on the road to success.

It wasn’t a straight shot from
Things to Do in Denver When You’re Dead
to bigger and better things, but I
have
had a lot of success along the way—you bought this book presumably because you’ve read one or more of my other books or seen me on
The View
or in a movie (or in the nude, you perv). And unrelated to success in a dollars-and-cents sense, I’ve also had great happiness. In other words, I’ve gotten what I want out of life. So far I’ve gotten more than I could have hoped for, even if on the face of it there have been setbacks (my failed status as a drug lord in Carbondale, Illinois; dropping out of college; and public speaking panic attacks are just the tip of the iceberg).

If I’m being honest with myself and really trying to distill my experiences into some kind of recipe for success and happiness, I think the story of my winding path through half of college and my old-fashioned “I’m gonna make it in Hollywood” attitude is a pretty instructive first lesson. It shows that my approach to
success and happiness has not exactly been calculated (wouldn’t that be a boring story?). Some might say I’m naive. Or lucky. Or all those things. But that doesn’t mean I can’t see patterns in the messiness and can’t draw some conclusions that I think might be helpful to others.

I mean, let’s go back to the metaphor of a recipe for a minute. Some people follow cookbook directions precisely and want their meals to look exactly like the gourmet concoctions they see in magazines. Maybe they take classes or follow video instruction for every step. And maybe they feel pressure to get it right every time.

Me, I improvise. I might start with a written recipe, but as soon as I’ve figured out that I don’t have all the necessary ingredients, I can confidently wing it. I open the fridge, sniff out what’s gone bad, assess what might pair well with what, and then start approximating the recipe with what I
do
have on hand. The result might possibly be a gourmet meal, though it most often looks nothing like the cookbook photo. But more often than not, it looks just fine and it tastes good, too. I also know when the fridge has me beat, and I’m not too proud to call for takeout!

For as long as I can remember—from finding a way to get out of speaking in class to dealing with criticism
about the way I run my mouth—I’ve been up on the stage of life tap-dancing my way through sticky situations with a smile on my face. I’ve been juggling to keep all my balls in the air (career, motherhood, and the actual male gonads in my well-documented love life). I’ve read my fair share of self-help books and held a mirror to myself in some questionable therapy sessions. Like anyone else, I try to learn from my mistakes (aka making the same damn bad choice over and over again until a lightbulb
finally
goes on).

I saw a public service announcement on a bus stop recently that said, “Winging it is not an emergency plan”—it was a reminder to parents to talk to their kids about what to do in the event of a disaster. I can’t disagree with that in terms of disaster preparedness … but I don’t live my life expecting the sky to fall! Winging it means being flexible, open-minded, and game for plan B if plan A doesn’t pan out. There’s no getting around the fact that life will be messy and imperfect and disappointing and sometimes hard. But I’m living proof that if you are open to improvisation, you can have a ton of fun and success to boot.

Try
winging it
. I highly recommend it!

Let’s agree on one thing: whatever method there is to my madness, I am
not
someone who has made success look easy. My path to success has been long and winding. Actually, it’s been more like a roller coaster—more ups and downs than lefts and rights. But trial and error, as well as setbacks and kicks in the teeth, make you appreciate whatever measure of success you ultimately enjoy. No ache, no appreciation, that’s what I say.

And let’s be honest: I’ve stepped in more shit than I could ever begin to scrape off my shoes. At least the reason for
that
is clear. Except possibly for
not
sharing my “watching
General Hospital
means I could be a nurse” theory, I have made a habit of not considering the consequences of whatever I’m about to say before I say it.

I like to think that speaking my mind is part of my charm, but that’s just an after-the-fact rationalization. I don’t say what’s on my mind to be charming. Obviously
not, because I don’t just put my foot in my mouth; I often swallow it whole. I don’t care how easy some exotic dancers make that look; it’s not an especially comfortable position to be in.

Another way to say it? No one has ever accused me of being a closed book. Instead, my friends have been known to say, “Puleeeeeaze put a cork in it!” What I
think
is what you get. (Except for my rack, what you see is what you get, too. My rack has been surgically altered a couple of times—I can’t lie.)

Given all that, and given the fact that you expected some advice when you bought this book, let me mouth off a little for you here. Allow me to break my theory of happiness down for you a little further. Based on my highly scientific study of the phenomenon (aka my own life), I can tell you that there are several things we all need to
know
and also a couple of necessary
no
s to learn about for good measure.

Knowing yourself in some big, psychological sense means you are in touch with your feelings and your motivations, and if you’re truly evolved (that is, no longer blaming Mom and Dad for everything), you have accepted your shortcomings as your own.

But there’s another way to know yourself that’s more mundane but not less important: you know what you can tolerate and what you just can’t. When you know yourself in this way, you don’t waste time pretending you’re someone you’re not, and you can voice your discomfort instead of pretending you’re the happiest lady on the block. (See “Decade-by-Decade Decision Making,”
this page
, for more on this profound topic!)

An example: me, I’m not outdoorsy, and I just can’t pretend that I am. Angelina Jolie’s regular trips to Africa are inspiring, but I’ll just have to write her a check to support her cause. For me, going to Italy is roughing it! I know they’ve got nice accommodations all over Italy, but I also know that I need a Vegas-style, big-ass bathroom, or I’m nothing to nobody. If you see a photo of me barefoot by a fire pit in Zimbabwe, you know that either it’s a fake set or some producer threatened to fire me if I didn’t make that trek and have that photo taken. Know this: I may be smiling, but I’m not happy or comfortable sitting at that fire pit. Of course, grinning and bearing it is something we all have to do from time to time, but grinning and trying to convince yourself you’re happy is a waste of time. You’re welcome—I just saved you years of therapy.

A less trivial example: I knew when to stop having babies.

I love and need my kid like air. He’s a total blessing and I cannot, cannot, cannot imagine my life without him. But I don’t need the kid in my life to become plural. Kids take time and focus, and I know myself enough to know my limit is to focus on just one. Having one child allows me to say yes to his needs
and
to have a work life, too. I wasn’t cut out to be the mother of five who has no time for herself. No apologies there, people. I know my limits and my limitations!

I’ve always had trouble sleeping. Wait, let me take that back. I’ve had trouble sleeping since I was old enough to start worrying about jobs, bills, and boys. I often lie in bed and contemplate and ruminate and waste my precious sleeping hours. It’s exhausting. Vodka, Ny-Quil, or Ambien can be helpful (never all three!), but it’s been clear for a while that I need to find another way of shutting off my mind.

Well, a solution recently hit me square in the face. In an offhanded way—totally casual and not at all preachy—a wise friend of mine recently said, “Don’t ask yourself questions you can’t possibly know the answers to.” I’m sure we were shopping at the time
and I was asking why the seams on my jeans were a different color than the seams on the ones she was wearing. Or maybe I had just peeled a callus off my foot and asked why it was shaped like the state of Illinois.

But wow. Even if we weren’t talking about deep spiritual enlightenment at the time, that was an Oprah lightbulb moment for me. “Don’t ask yourself questions you can’t possibly know the answers to.” Fucking mind-blowing, that’s what it is. I couldn’t think of a more brilliant statement or one that would better help me shut down the “what if?” and “will I?” questions that keep me up at night.

We all know someone in our lives who overuses their favor card. It doesn’t matter if they overstep just one time too many or ten—one favor too many is too many. (If this describes you, you seriously need to stop this shit before you don’t have any friends left.)

Sure, it’s great to help out a friend in need, but when the favors outnumber the quality time spent, you’re probably being used. Is there someone in your
life you call only when you need something, or are you on the other end of that phone call rolling your eyes at a friend who didn’t call to talk but instead called to ask for something (a “tiny” favor, a loan) again? Ever heard of the
power of a loving no
? Get comfortable with it. A huge part of self-love is being able to stand up for yourself when you are feeling taken advantage of.

Sometimes people say no because what you’ve asked is unreasonable in the first place: “No, I can’t find you a five-star hotel with a Vegas-style bathroom near the set in Zimbabwe.”

Sometimes people say no because even though they would like to help you, they honestly can’t: “No, Jenny, I’m sorry, but my hands are tied. You and your sister got yourselves axed from Madonna’s after-Oscars party this year because of the Thailand-style strip club performance you gave there last year.”

Sometimes people say no because they are law-abiding wimps: “No, we can’t keep the bar open for you and your friends. We will lose our liquor license.”

And sometimes people say no because they are assholes and it makes them feel temporarily good about themselves to insult you while they are denying your request: “No, you can’t star opposite Brad Pitt because you are past your prime.”

Wait, wait, wait … did you interpret that last chapter to mean that I think you should always turn the other cheek? Ha! Being able to take no for an answer doesn’t always mean that you have to take someone else’s shit. Repeat after me: when it comes to gracefully reacting to an obvious or implied criticism, you
do not
always have to take the high road. In fact, I urge you to develop your sense of where the shorter, more direct route lies and when taking it just might be the best course of action.

Let’s work on that. See if you can spot the correct response to each of the following situations from my own life.

Scenario 1:
Evan has just swatted my hand away from his dinner plate while making a heinous seagull caw-cawing noise as he flaps his arms like wings. In other words, he has just cleverly accused me of being a food scavenger. (Yes, this happens all the time.)

Should I (A) flip his plate over on the floor to express
my disgust and then mock his seagull noise by making the snorting sound of a pig, or (B) give him a high five and then silently take a bow for having raised a young man who’s both observant and funny?

That one was easy. (Wait, you said A, right? No need to take crap from an eleven-year-old and/or take the high road in the comfort of your own home.)

Scenario 2:
I’m walking into the lobby of my apartment building after a long day of work and a “reporter” (you get quote marks if you’re from TMZ, guys) appears out of nowhere, shoves a microphone in my face, and yells (it always feels like they’re yelling!), “Hey, Jenny, why is it that you can’t seem to stay in a relationship?” Or maybe he shouts, “Hey, Jenny, is it true you’re about to be fired?”

Should I (A) give him the benefit of the doubt and choose to hear his question as a compliment? You know, choose to hear “You help our ratings when we can flash a photo of you out on a date with someone new, so thanks and keep up the speed dating!” or “A nasty and public fight over your day job would sure sell magazines, so we’re rooting for you to get canned ASAP!” Or should I (B) make a heinous seagull caw-cawing noise at him (to express my feeling that he is scavenging off the crumbs of my life) and colorfully tell him where he can shove it?