COLUMN: The Power of the Moment

From Sonja Stumacher's, "Fragments of the Sun," Fall '95 From Sonja Stumacher's, "Fragments of the Sun," Fall '95So you were 13 years old and you sat quietly in your Health Education class which everyone knew was really about sex. About how to have it and how to avoid it and how to feel about it and how to protect yourself from it. About how to decide. About how to know. Still, you were 13. The course was designed to be on your side, no holds barred, hip, open to any wild move or weird question. And it was, for the most part. The films you watched about syphilis and genital herpes may have planted a slightly oversized seed of fear in your mind, but otherwise, Health Ed got its point across. You left that class knowing you would be smart, watch out for yourself, use protection. You would think before you acted. You would know. At 13, I sat in the same class and wondered how anyone could be oblivious enough to have sex without using contraception, why anyone would mess with something as fragile and precious as a body's health. I felt solid, self-possessed, strong. Determined to do the right thing. However, one simple, integral concept could not be taught in that class. Probably the most central component of understanding sexuality: the power of the moment. The moment that demands you to surrender your need for control. The loss of self and the relinquishing of the conscious, rational mind. An all-consuming, animal force that overrides solid, self-possessed decisions. I am not speaking only of the actual, graphic physicality of sex. I am speaking of the intense union of two bodies and minds, the blending of flesh, the ebb and flow of two separate natures clinging to one another. Such a union requires you to give up a part of yourself, in exchange for a part of someone else. You find yourself drawn into the moment, into the power of the natural, physical expression and celebration of your existence. So you're not 13 anymore. The scene seems to have changed a little. The simple idea of playing it safe, using your smarts, staying in control, has been slightly transformed. Of course you are a bright person, capable and strong. You know the right thing to do. But somehow the whole discussion does not seem so simple anymore?and somehow you find yourself able to understand how the smartest person might slip up and throw caution to the wind. I am not easily disturbed by films. I saw the movie Kids a few nights ago and left the theater with an urge to sprint to the nearest clinic and get myself checked out. It was the kind of film that scares the shit out of you even if you have no reason to be afraid. Something about this movie turns you inside out, forces you to recall each and every possible mistake you have made. Somehow you end up scrutinizing your past, combing through the graphic details of each experience, groping for some type of assurance that you really did do the right thing. Because the truth is, you still remember Health Ed. Sometimes you still feel 13 inside, even though at least five years separates you from that time in your life; even though you have been there, thought about it, talked about it, done it, or decided against it. The irony lies within the knowledge that the very thing which separates you from the 13-year-old child inside -- the understanding of the power of the moment -- is what puts you in danger. Because the moment cancels out all the simple solutions and answers offered by Health Ed. In real life, there just might not be a way to sit in a class and learn about sex -- about how to have it and how to avoid it and how to feel about it and how to protect yourself from it. Maybe nobody can really tell you how to decide. For sure nobody can tell you how to know. Somehow it seems like there are no cut and dried answers anymore. I can no longer sit at my desk and wonder how anyone could mess with something as fragile and precious as a body's health. My brain knows how stupid you must be to have unprotected sex, but my body understands about throwing caution to the wind. So maybe we should not be so quick to point a finger at a film such as Kids and claim an unfair portrayal of our generation. The characters, exaggerated and grotesque, act in ways that we cannot entirely condemn without first looking at ourselves and examining our knowledge of sexuality. Our knowledge of the moment. Because when you really get down to it, all you have to separate yourself from the Kids is the moment. The choice can only be made then.