No Lifeguard on Duty: The Accidental Life of the World's First Supermodel (48 page)

Fake it till you make it.
That was my new mantra. Act good till you are good. Act confident, and confidence will take you over. “Act out” the person you want to be. Act patient, interested, Zen—and you will become those

things, and more.

I began to act as if success were inevitable, as if I was already the person I wanted to be.

And it worked. Sometimes. Sometimes it only worked

for a few hours. Sometimes it worked for several days, weeks even. And sometimes—sometimes the past would

rear its ugly head. And I would feel terrible about myself all over again. Until I began to see the past for what it was worth. The past had been my education. All those mistakes and heartbreak and failures and humiliations—those experiences had shaped me. The person I was then had turned me into the person I was becoming, and I was beginning to like the new me. Really truly. I would look in the mirror and think, “You’re okay, babe. You’re better than okay. You
rock.
”

So I began getting over the past. I stopped blaming everything on my father, my childhood, my early experiences, society’s “injustices,” whatever.
Why dwell on
them?
I told myself.
I’ve learned all I’m going to learn
from them, and now it’s time to move on
. I didn’t need the past anymore. The past explained how I got here. But the future—well, the future was my responsibility.

I had another responsibility, too—far greater even than my responsibility to myself. I was responsible for my two children. I wanted them to be happy, sure. But happiness is elusive. It comes and goes. And what they needed from me N O L I F E G UA R D O N D U T Y 371

was something that went well beyond happiness, something I never got from my own family: a sense of
self-worth
.

And I give it to them every day. I
try
, anyway. I listen when they talk. I validate their feelings. I’m there for them.

Most of all, I try to make them feel loved; I try to impress upon them that they really matter, that there’s a place for them in the world. I have faith that this will make all the difference in their lives. They will grow up feeling good about themselves.
Worthy.
And people who feel good about themselves are generally good to others. Goodness begets goodness. Love begets love.

Yeah—change is fucking hard. But it’s worth it. Here’s one small example:

Last year, I took Savannah and Nathan to the annual pre-Halloween fund-raiser at Warner Elementary, in

Holmby Hills, where Savannah goes to school. Simon said he’d meet us there. Michael said he’d try to make it, too.

So we get there. It’s crowded. There are carnival rides and games and balloons and lots of food, and a band is just warming up on stage. And everyone’s coming up to congratulate me, like it was my party or something. And, sure—in some small ways—it
was
. I’m on the goddamn PTA, people. I helped organize it. I’m there taking pictures for the yearbook. And I’m thanking them and grinning my alligator grin and here comes Simon Fields, my ex, with his wife, Melanie, and their adorable little rugrat, Isabel.

And we say hello and hug each other—and we fucking

mean
it. I am hugging these people with genuine love. This man is the father of my eldest child, and he is not a bad person. And this is the woman who is making him happy.

And a moment later Michael shows up. And of course

everyone knows everyone, because life is full of ironies.

And this week both Simon and Michael have movies open

372 J A N I C E D I C K I N S O N

ing in theaters nationwide: Simon produced
Serendipity,
starring John Cusack. Michael produced
Bandits,
starring Bruce Willis and Billy Bob Thornton. And then Nathan comes up—and he’s talking
numbers
, box-office grosses.

And I look at him and think,
I swear to God, my little poet
is going to be running a Hollywood studio some day
.

And for a moment there I feel like I’m having an out-ofbody experience. I see myself literally floating above my little gang. Nathan and Savannah and Michael and Simon and Melanie. And I’m thinking,
These are great people! I
am lucky to have these people in my life!

And it’s all so cordial. All of us behaving like regular goddamn people. And it hits me.
I’m an adult, for God’s
sake. I am an ex-wife and mother. I am all grown up.
I’m not freaking out. I’m not patting my pocket for my vial of cocaine, or looking around for a drink. I’m not jumping out of my skin. I’m just plain fucking happy. And I take a deep breath and find myself smiling like a lunatic.

WITH MY KIDS AND SIMON AT NATHAN’S SEVENTH BIRTHDAY.

ªªªªªªªªªªªªªªªªªªªªªªªªªªªªªªªªªª

N O L I F E G UA R D O N D U T Y 373

Of course, I know: Life has a way of wiping that smile off your face. I’m going about my business and it all comes flooding back, sudden and terrifying. The years of abuse.

The torture. The bad marriages. The foolish choices. And suddenly I feel like Alice again, tumbling down the rabbit hole. And I wonder whether I’ll ever stop falling, and where I’ll land this time. And I’m here to tell you:
It is
goddamn terrifying
. Falling, twisting, tumbling—with that evil goddamn demon breathing down my neck.

And just as suddenly, I stop falling. Usually. And I realize I’m okay. No bones broken. Heart’s racing a little, sure, but it’ll ease up in a few minutes. And I’m here, right?

Alive
. I’ve fallen into the abyss before and surely I’ll fall in again. And I’ll be stronger for it. It’s not going to kill me.

I’ve survived this fall and I’ll make it through the next.

There. See? Heart rate practically normal now. No

demons here; just me, good old Janice. And that’s my face in the mirror. Not bad. I mean, sure, gravity’s done a number on it. And sometimes I think I need a little plastic surgery to go with my Manolo Blahniks. But I’m not there yet, babe. No. I’m fine. I’m holding up fine. I’m holding up almost as well as my tits. I’m a fucking champ.

Okay,
you say.
That’s all very well and good, Janice.

But what about love?

You’re asking me?

Thousands of years of civilization and nobody’s figured it out yet. Is it real? An illusion? An illness? Is it a biological imperative? A trick of nature to make us procreate?

I don’t know. I’m not sure anyone does. But I’ll tell you what it
isn’t
. It isn’t what Hollywood tells you it is. It isn’t that at all, not by a long shot.

I’ll give you an example. The other day I was watching
Jerry Maguire
—for the third time. It’s a wonderful movie.

But there’s a scene in it that’s all wrong. It’s the scene 374 J A N I C E D I C K I N S O N

where Tom Cruise breaks down in front of Renee Zellweger, and—his voice cracking with emotion—tells her:

“You complete me.”

Not to put too fine a point on it, people, but that scene—

that scene is complete bullshit. That scene right there—

that’s what makes it so hard for the rest of us, those of us who have to operate in the Real World.

Hollywood—Jesus. These romantic illusions; that’s the
real
violence.

I don’t need another person to complete me,
amigo
. I need to complete myself. And I don’t need another person to make me happy; I need to make
myself
happy. And not with drink or drugs, but with real homegrown happiness—

happiness that comes from within. Happiness that comes from change—changes in me, not in others.

The funny thing is, most people don’t even know what makes them happy. I mean, seriously. Think about it. Ask yourself what makes you happy. Friendship? Good sex? A hot car? Health? Money? Freedom? And when something makes you happy, does it really make you happy for any length of time?

Men are okay, yes. But I like being a mother, with all its ups and downs. And I like food; food is no longer the enemy. And I like yoga and taking my dogs for a run in the hills above my house and going to movies on Sunday afternoons.

I like dating, too. Sitting in a nice restaurant with a man who might or might not become a lover. I like knowing that it’s my choice; I like knowing that his wanting me isn’t really the issue. Of course he wants me. Hell, he’s a guy.

That’s what men
do:
want us.

But things have changed. Big-time. Nowadays,
I
want me, too. And you know what? Sometimes that’s plenty.

I called Alexis the other day and said, “We don’t talk

((((((((((((((((((((((((((((((((((

A FAMILY I CAN LOVE. TOP, FROM LEFT: DEBBIE, ALEXIS, ALEXIS’S

SON, MORGAN, MITCH. BOTTOM ROW: NATHAN, ME, AND

SOME SEXY MAN.

enough.” And she said, “You’re right, we don’t.” She has a ten-year-old son now, a husband who adores her, and a real suburban-mom life. “Hold on,” she said. She put her son on the speaker-phone and he played his cello for me. He was astonishing.

I called Debbie, too. We don’t talk enough, either. She’s the mother of a wonderful six-year-old son and she’s doing all kinds of things—acting, modeling, public relations, teaching kids, and being actively happy. We talked about our aches and pains. And she said, “I love my life.”

God, she’s changed. And Alexis has changed. And
I’ve
changed!

The thing is, life is
dynamic;
it’s
about
change. And when we change, as we must, inevitably, the things that make us happy tend to lose their hold. So the hot car doesn’t make us as happy as it used to. And the good sex 376 J A N I C E D I C K I N S O N

isn’t all that good anymore. And that friendship has lost its allure. And our love? Where did it go? When did we stop loving each other?

At the end of the day, I’ve learned to stop looking for The Answer. Because there isn’t
one
answer. There are many answers. Love is not the answer. It’s
part
of the answer. And money’s nice, too. As is sex and good health and flirting at the mall.

And passion’s nice, too. Remember passion?

But passion can be many things. Passion can be gardening. Hiking. Passion can be salsa dancing. Or writing a book like this book. Passion can be big and unwieldy and mind-bending, or it can be many small passions that add up to—well, a life, a real life.

This is what my life is now. Friendships. Health. Sobriety. Good works. Photography. And motherhood. Yes, motherhood most of all. Don’t tell me there’s nothing heroic about being a mother; it doesn’t get more heroic.

The notion of taking a child, shaping him, helping him grow—of guiding him along in this uncertain world—does it really get any better than that, people?

Okay. Sure. I’ve made my share of mistakes. Maybe

more than my share. And I’m not proud of everything I’ve done. But I’m proud of who I am today and proud of the woman I hope to become. As I said, I was shaped by my mistakes and disappointments just as I was shaped by my successes. But I’m done with history. The past explains how I got here, but the future is up to me.

And what a future!

I’m Janice, babe. I broke the mold. I lived life at full throttle.

Vroom.