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have to be exposed to other people. And you have to be willing to show them your soul. You have to be only yourself. If it makes you nervous or uncomfortable to do this, good. Even better. Because that’s you, too.
    You cannot make a mistake on a date with the right person for you.
    If you stand up from the table and accidentally trip and thetablecloth along with everything on it lands on the lap of the person sitting across from you . . . if they are the right person?
    That will be the moment they realize they love you.
    Maybe this happens when you are twenty-three. Or maybe it happens when you reach fifty-four. Or maybe seven days after your eighty-sixth birthday.
    Two hundred tons of ore is a great amount of ore. If, after a reasonable amount of time and effort you remain unhappily single, my suggestion is that you employ the services of a cat or a dog.
    Both cats and dogs are known hiding places of soul mates.
    They are also very, very good at getting strangers to talk to them in kind voices. Which, it should be noted, could be of some use to those who might otherwise be too shy to step forward and say, hello.

H OW TO B E F AT
     

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    I KNOW A WOMAN who has mentioned her weight—and how she needs to lose it—every time I have seen her for the twenty years I have known her.
    I have no idea what she weighs but she looks great and her boyfriend is handsome and fascinating and thinks she’s hot. She’s not skinny. She has hips and boobs and thighs; she looks great, she looks right.
    She’s an ambitious and successful woman; she pursues what she wants with dedication and focus.
    If you spend twenty years trying to get something and you still don’t have it, is it admirable to keep trying? Or did you pass admirable several miles back and it’s getting close to straightjacket time?
    If you are no closer to having something you’ve been chasing for twenty years, your data is broken. Either you can’t getit, period; you already have it; you don’t really need or want it; or it’s not real.
    If this is you and your weight is like a war that you fight with yourself, maybe you should try this: what about not dieting?
    If the pressure were off—really off—and you had your own full permission to eat what you wanted, would this make you happy?
    When nothing is forbidden, when it’s truly perfectly okay for you to climb into bed with a great book, a yellow layer cake from the bakery, and a fork, the cake suddenly has no more street value than the carrot stick. At least after the fourth time you do this. Exotic medical conditions aside, when there is no judgment with respect to what you eat—when you freely and openly allow yourself anything and as much as you please—the calories may add up, but their value to you decreases. The forbidden element is now gone. The rebellion is gone. The treat is gone because everything is a treat so nothing is.
    The trick to this is, you can’t pep talk yourself into such an attitude and then eat tons of shit, gain weight, and be frustrated because this “not dieting” diet failed, like all the others. You have to let yourself eat how you want to eat for the rest of your life.
    It’s like buying a really high-quality blue-chip stock for the long-term as opposed to the flashy, sensational bargain that will turn a profit overnight before evaporating.
    Almost every serial dieter I know speaks of his or her “relationship with food” and how “complex” it is.
    As with any shitty relationship, the solution is not to spend years in couples therapy and scheduling sex every Wednesday. If it’s really a shitty relationship, you have to leave it.
    If you go on a diet and you lose weight and keep the weight off, that means you wanted it, you got what you wanted, then you actually liked having it, so you’ve kept it.
    But if you diet and fail and diet and fail, you clearly have to stop with the dieting because you don’t like diets of any kind enough to follow them.
    So. You let