Okay, here is an experiment. I’m going to ask you a few simple questions and all you have to do is picture the answers in your head. That’s it. Ready?
You are traveling. You can do this in any way you want, your choice, you just need to get to a different location, so you decide how to get there. Once you have determined this, begin the trip. Picture all that’s around you, take it all in.
On your travels, you come across a cup. This can be any type of cup at all and you can do anything with it that you want. See the cup, take in all the details, decide what you are going to do with this cup, and then we’ll move on.
Next you find a key. This can be any kind of key at all, and again, you can do anything with it you like. Picture all the details of the key, decide what you are going to do with it, and move on.
As you are traveling, you come across a body of water. It can be any body of water at all. Picture all the details of the water as you decide what you will do when you come across it. Then, we move on.
Lastly, we come across a house, any kind of a house. Picture all the details. You can do anything you want with the house and we move on.
Okay, that’s it. You’re done.
So, how did you travel? By foot, by plane, by boat, by unicycle? Was it a fast trip or a slow one? Was it chaotic and exciting, or calm and relaxing?
How you chose to travel, represents how you see life. Was your trip crazy and frustrating, or was it calm and direct? Picture how you saw all this in your head. What images can you pull that show how you see life? Were the windows down in the car? Was the sky clear from your airplane window? Was there a warm breeze going by as you walked?
The first thing you came across on your trip was a cup. The cup represents how you view relationships. Was your cup a crystal goblet or the empty plastic container from a Big Gulp? What did you do with the cup? Did you leave it behind or take it with you?
Next you came across a key. The key represents knowledge. Was the key a shiny brass skeleton key, or was it a rusting car key stuck in the mud? What did you do with this key?
Then you came across a body of water. The body of water represents how you view sex. Was the water a raging ocean, or a mud puddle? Was it a clear stream or ditch? What did you do when you came across the body of water?
And lastly, you came across a house. The house represents how you see . . . you. How you picture yourself. Was it a five-story mansion or a rusting trailer up on cinder blocks? Was it a comfortable home, a small cabin, or a castle looking over the ocean?
Now, if you saw the key as a broken sardine-can key, does it mean you crave ignorance and despise knowledge? No. If the cup you saw was a disposable fast-food one that you ran over with your monster truck, it doesn’t necessarily mean you see people as unimportant and easily replaceable. At least, I don’t think so. This is just one of those personality tests, and I’m not sure anyone really knows what (if any) science is actually behind it.
But, with me, this little personality test pointed out something very important.
I took this test about thirty years ago when I was in college. I was in a dark room, I had my eyes closed, and I had a friend speaking to me, guiding me into a deep trance.
“You are traveling.” Her words guided me.
I was traveling.
On the path, I saw something. It was dark and rough and sat on top of the hard-packed dirt. It was a key. An old iron and hand-forged skeleton key, but this key was large, the size of a pair of glasses. I picked it up. It was heavy and important, so I took it with me.
I started walking again and saw something else. There, ahead in the grass. Its faint red and blue color made it easy to see, but I couldn’t quite make out what it was until I got closer. When I did, I saw that it was a teacup.
I bent down to look at it. It was a delicate thing with painted leaves and ivy on the outside and a soft spiderweb of gray cracks inside. When I picked it up, I noticed it weighed almost nothing and that it had one small chip on the rim. It was delicate and rare.
I held it by the handle and looked at it. I liked it, so I took it with me.
The path became shady as it wound into some woods. I followed it and could see something glimmering ahead. I got closer and saw that it was a small lake. Because I had nowhere to go, I sat down at the base of a tree in the shade and just looked at the lake.
Now, this is where the story gets strange.
As I walked away from the lake, as I got into a darker part of the woods, the trees were closer together and I saw something ahead in the dead brush off the path. You could tell right away that it was some sort of building. As I got closer, I could see it was an old abandoned shack.
It was small, not much bigger than a garden shed, but I knew it was meant to be someone’s home. The clapboard door was hanging on its hinges—hinges that were really only thick pieces of leather nailed into the wood. There was a small tree growing through the rotting floorboards and dark piles of rotting leaves filled every surface that you could see through the doorway.
I stood on the path, not wanting to get any closer not afraid of the shack but, well, not liking it. I definitely didn’t like that shack.
I really hated it.
I didn’t want to do this anymore.
Since deep into that trance, I fought to get out of it. I wanted to come up now. I wanted to be as far away from that shack as I could get.
I tried to open my eyes, but they wouldn’t open. I gave the command to my brain to move my hands, but nothing happened. Then I was able to get my right shoulder to move, just a little, then a little more . . .
“Wait.” I could hear my friend’s voice, still calm, in the distance. “You’re almost done.”
Then my arm moved, then the other arm. Then my neck. And then I could finally open my eyes.
“What are you doing?” my friend said. “We’re almost finished.”
“I don’t want to do this anymore.” I stood up.
“What’s wrong with you? You were …
“This is stupid. I don’t . . . Why did you make me do that?”
I was angry and I didn’t even know why. I opened the door and walked out of the room. She followed me, and I walked through to the courtyard and plopped down on a bench. We sat and were silent.
For a long time.
Now what’s interesting is that I had filed this memory away. I completely forgot about it until I started writing this. And what’s interesting about that is the fact that I’ve known that I hated myself for a long time, but assumed the reason was a combination of things. I thought part of the reason I hated myself was because I was now pushing 300 pounds.
Nope.
That 150-pound college kid, the one who found the shack on the path, hated himself, so I must not hate myself because I’m fat. Maybe I’m fat because I hate myself.
I thought I hated myself because of all the failure and guilt I carry from the things I’ve done over the past thirty years.
Incorrect.
That kid at college didn’t have any of that baggage. He hadn’t done much of anything to be ashamed of yet, but he hated himself anyway. Deeply.
So why did I? And how can I fix that?