You haven’t heard from me for a couple weeks. This is because I’ve been lost in a morass of self-doubt and fear. I think I was waiting to find a funny angle before I could write it out, but no matter how I tell it, there just isn’t any humour there. The timing couldn’t have been worse because after my last blog, my loving and patient husband laid down the law: “Every time you write about me, you make me seem like such an asshole. Really? You don’t have anything else to say?”
I realized that I didn’t actually. And this was enough to create a huge writers block.
Desperate to pull myself out and keep my blogging momentum going, I tested out humorous versions of this story with Alice, who berated me for trying way too hard.
“Why not just do something to change your focus. Do something that makes you feel good.”
She convinced me to join her at the Synagogue.
“But, Alice, we’re not even Jewish.”
When we got there, Alice insisted we sit in the first row.
“Trust me, you’ll thank me later.”
A few minutes later a shortish man with just the hint of a receding hairline walked out and stood at the front of the room. His head was lowered and his demeanor, meditative. “Oh shit,” I thought. “A fucking religious self-help talk.”
But then the man raised his head and began to chant. I couldn’t understand the words, but in a moment it was clear why Alice brought me. She always has the best ideas.
The man’s voice was deep and completely filled the room. When he hit the low notes, the resonance of his voice hit me right in the clit. I looked over at Alice. She had her eyes closed and a little smile. I then glanced around me and noticed that the first three rows were entirely filled with women.
“So this is why people get into organized religion…” My last thoughts before I allowed the sensation to overtake me.
Today, I feel much better.
This morning I talked to my husband about converting to Judaism, but that’s another blog post.