Alone in the Vastness
On a trip to Latin America, I bought a painting by a well known Argentine artist named Rikelme. We were hosting a client reception in Punta del Este on the gold coast of Uruguay, where the rich and famous play in January. Rikelme seems to specialize in painting landscapes that emphasizing trees. I’m a big tree fan when it comes to art. One of my other favorite artists is David Smith Harrison of Utah, who specializes in etchings of trees with backdrops of architectural details. I would probably like him more as an artist if my ex-wife had allowed me to keep any of his etchings. I liked this particular Rikelme painting because it depicted a tree on the pampas of Patagonia. It was also stylistically like a Canadian “School of Seven” painting in its coloration and quasi impressionistic way. But mostly, I liked it for its title and how it spoke to me.
Solo en la Immensidad is the title and this translates to Alone in the Vastness. What it said to me was that we are all, ultimately, alone in the vastness. At first I took this thought to be a melancholy one which spoke of loneliness. As I have pondered this painting and its meaning, I have come to a different conclusion. I now understand it to mean that we are all responsible for our own environment and state of being. This is a beautiful and lush tree of grand proportions standing solidly on some of the most beautiful, yet barren landscape in the world. Like the tee shirt says, life is harsh, live well. This tree has persevered and flourished. It is largely responsible for its own ecosystem and its own setting. Without its strength and sense of responsibility, the pampas would be pretty empty and no one would be making art of it.
So, am I alone in the vastness? Yes and no. I am the master of my environment. I have been successful by my standards. My life has taken a path of my making. I have mastered my chosen profession and have the fruits to evidence that success. I have supported my family well and continue to do so. They rely on me and I have not let them down. Indeed they have flourished. I have reclaimed the passions of my youth and enjoy them still. I have examined my life and am pleased. But who among us is 100% fulfilled? Certainly not me. Having it all can’t be done.
Where do I fall short? Let’s just say that I am alone in my vastness. My size is my personal albatross. I’m not just big, I’m BIG. When I was 8, they thought I was 12. When I was 14 the orthopedist told me not to play tennis until my tendons caught up with my size. When I was 16 I stopped fitting into off-the-rack sizes. I started college at 310 pounds and was immediately recruited to join the football team. As an adult I can’t begin to recount the issues I’ve had to deal with because of my size.
Now before I go too far with this issue, let me remind you that men have a much easier time dealing with bigness since scale is generally an advantage in male pursuits. Tall men have an even easier time in general because one looks less like a ball and more like a giant. It’s not so awful for a man to look like an out of shape lineman. Women, I’m certain, will agree that the world is not fair on this issue. So it could have been worse. It helps that I am reasonably athletic, have a full head of hair, and am blessed with a good sense of humor. Still, my size does startle some, scares others, and generally overshadows my persona on a first impression basis at least.
To put it bluntly, my size is the single most significant aspect of my being that has determined my life’s course. This said, I recall a friend once telling me that he admired me for not letting my size stop me from doing most of the physical things other men do. And again, just recently, a man at my gym said to me in the spa that it was great to see a big man like me moving so well and enjoying physical activity (in this case swimming.) The jobs I took in college, the girls I dared to ask out, the cars I bought and the clothes I would wear. If clothes make the man, then size picks the clothes that make the man.
I guess we are all creatures of our environment, but few characteristics do more to determine character than size. We’ve all heard about Napoleon complexes. Undoubtedly you’ve all known a small person who has compensated with other forms of success. But what of big men? Is there a Leviathon Complex or a Gulliver Syndrome? There probably is in the textbooks on abnormal psychology, but it’s far from well recognized or much sympathized with. Big men are considered well able to take care of themselves, thank you very much. They are truly alone in their vastness.
About a dozen years ago now I began hearing about bariatric surgery, and specifically the lap band. It was an invasive procedure to effectively put a strap around your stomach and thereby restrict its ability to take in food. Not a particularly sophisticated concept, but one that made sense in the way proposed. The lap band had a sort of inner tube in it which could be inflated or deflated by injecting saline into a “port” located near one’s belly-button. That way you could tighten or loosen your stomach entry as needed. Having tried just about every weight loss technique known to man, I was ready for something more proactive and invasive like this. I had it done and have never looked back. It doesn’t work for everyone, but it worked for me. I lost 130 pounds, put back 30 and have stayed steady ever since.
I’m still a big guy and far from svelte, but the lap band has extended my active lifestyle well into my 60’s now. And here’s the thing…my wife has a lap band, several of our friends have lap bands. My son-in-law just got bariatric surgery (the new, more radical “sleeve” procedure, which slices off a big part of one’s stomach). He is down 75 pounds so far. This is a great boon to people who can’t otherwise control their eating. Some might think it’s cheating, but I don’t. I think anything that levels this playing field is a good thing.
The Rikelme is still a favorite painting and the theme still resonates with me, but hey, I’ve got lots of company around me and I am no longer alone in my vastness.