OK, I admit it. I am one of those people addicted to self-help
books. I can tell you how to get the truth in five minutes or less
in any conversation, I’ve posed in the lotus position longer than
most Buddhists, studied the Art of Zen, and I can say
”
Om Namo Narayanayayanaya
”
10 times in a row without stopping.
OK, I admit it. I am one of those people addicted to self-help books. I can tell you how to get the truth in five minutes or less in any conversation, I’ve posed in the lotus position longer than most Buddhists, studied the Art of Zen, and I can say “Om Namo Narayanayayanaya” 10 times in a row without stopping.
So you can imagine my surprise, then, when I heard about a new method for personal improvement called “self talk.” This simply means that you can feel calm or worried or even change your behavior depending on what you tell yourself.
Let me just stop right here and say that this is the exactly the type of thing that makes this decade so refreshing. I mean, at any other time in history, if you told people that you were listening to voices in your head, they might make all kinds of unflattering assumptions. But now, it’s not only acceptable to listen to them, they are SUPPOSED to be there.
Naturally, though, there are some ground rules. For example you’re supposed to say positive, uplifting things to yourself like, “Gee, I feel a little stressed, but I’m going to find a healthy way to relax.”
Another important rule is that it’s best to talk internally rather than carrying on heated conversations with yourself in places like, say, department store dressing rooms.
However, despite these restrictions, I am perfectly willing to try this. Besides, and this may come as a shock, I am a person with many unresolved issues – most of which revolve around some form of shopping.
So the very next time I was in one of those big warehouse stores, I decided to use self talk to control my spending habits.
“Just look at that,” I thought as I wandered past the personal necessities aisle, “A bag of eight hair brushes for only 10 dollars! What a deal!”
“Come on,” my logical, inner voice piped up. “What in the heck are you going to do with all those brushes?”
“Well, I can give them as gifts or use the larger ones as door stops.”
“You don’t need them,” my inner voice said firmly.
“Oh, but I do! I do! The orange one alone would cost me $7.50 at the beauty parlor,” I pleaded.
“Remember the time you bought a pack of 32 golf balls and ended up using them to border the flowerbed?”
“Bu-”
“Put them back. NOW.”
“Make me!”
I could tell by the way people were backing away from me, that I had spoken out loud. So I quickly returned the brushes and grabbed a bottle of hairspray instead.
As soon as I left the aisle, I felt proud of my new self-control. But then, when I arrived in the bakery section, my inner self proceeded to talk me out of buying four dozen dinner rolls.
The final straw came when I reached for a 25-pound box of laundry detergent.
“But you can’t possibly use all tha-”
“Shut up,” I said, tossing it into the cart.
Needless to say, I did save money and, although there was nothing edible in the house, I did feel good about it. In fact, when the men with straight jackets show up at my door to take me away to a nice padded room, I’ll just explain all about self talk and feeling empowered and all that.
On second thought, maybe I’d better just say “Om Namo Narayanayayanaya.”
Debbie Farmer is a humorist and a mother holding down the fort in California, and the author of Don’t Put Lipstick on the Cat. You can reach her at
fa********@oa***************.com
.
