Story of the Week, “The Age of the Fat Ass”
August 10, 2009
I apologize in advance for the look of this photo, but when you read the story below, you’ll know why I had to use it.
This Story of the Week is one of my favorites, because it’s from real life. It’s one of those stories that seems too real to be true. But I swear to god it is. Even my imagination isn’t as good as this.
People often ask me how I get people to tell me their stories. It’s very very easy. I just listen. That seems obvious but it isn’t. Most people don’t listen to strangers, let alone people they know. But I make it a practice to listen to people as deeply as I can. And that plus the luck of the Universe, make me a very good story catcher. People tell me stories everywhere I go, even in the most unlikely places.
Yesterday I was at Whole Foods doing some grocery shopping. Because I had brought my new mini pink laptop with me, I was seized by the urge to write, so I sat down at an outside table and began to craft a story. No sooner had I started to write, then an older woman came over and asked if she could sit in the chair next to me while she waited for her ride. There were plenty of other chairs around, but when she asked if she could sit near me I knew that it was a sign that she had a story to tell and she needed someone to listen.
She sat down. I stopped what I was doing and turned my attention to her. In less than a minute her story poured out.
“I’ve been really unhappy lately,” she said. I asked her why. ”We’re living in the time of the fat ass.”
What? I thought that I had heard her incorrectly. Did she just say FAT ASS??
I continued to listen and she went on….
“Women wear these tights and you can see their pantyline through them. I don’t know what they’re thinking. When I was growing up we were taught to be modest. I used to go right home from the store and tuck all my labels in. I don’t know how they think they look good like this. They don’t. I thought I was fat, but they’re really fat. It’s just terrible. Especially the young women, they really let it all hang out, no wonder they get attacked.” 
Oh my gosh, my mind was racing. What was I supposed to say to a story like this? I had no idea.
But then I remembered that the most important part of being a good story listener is about listening. It’s not what you say. When you can just let the story be heard, then the magic happens all by itself. I was quiet and she continued…..
“It wasn’t like this when I was growing up. I don’t know what this world is coming to. I don’t like it. That’s why I’m so unhappy. I don’t think I’ll be here much longer. I’m eighty-nine, you know.”
Just then her ride showed arrived. As she got up to leave, she turned to me, ”Sorry to have bothered you,” she said. “Nice talking to you.” And she then she was gone.
I was in shock. This was definitely one of the most unusual stories that I have ever been told. Why had she told me this story and what was I supposed to do with it? I looked down at my hands. They were still hovering over my pink keyboard, paused in mid-air. Write Annie, write.
I started to think about it. A person’s story is a very tender thing for them to share. We live in a world that is too busy, too fast. Especially the elderly, they feel like they can’t keep up. It is all whirling by. So the least that I can do as a caring human being in this world, is to listen and to record their stories in my mind. I try to listen everywhere I go as my small contribution to the healing of the world.
It may seem like a small thing, or nothing at all. But to listen to someone’s story can be a moment of healing for them. It sends the message that ‘You’re not alone in this.’ More than anything, we need that message in the world. As life goes by at such a fast pace, we feel more and more alone. With no one to talk to and we can become more and more distressed, as was obviously the case with this woman.
So as much as I was in shock by the message of this woman’s conversation, I was also very touched that she would share it with me and allow herself to receive even one moment of healing.
Later, I started to think about my own mother. She is eighty-nine as well and has been talking lately about nearing the end of her life. Maybe this woman showed up so that I’d listen to my own mother more closely. Who is listening to her stories?
Stories are precious. They are tender little pieces of our lives. Our listening is an active contribution to the healing of our world.
I’m going to go call my mother now. I need to listen to her stories for awhile. Maybe you should call your mother too and reassure her that fat asses or not, we’re all ok.
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