A few days ago before my birthday, I went to the dentist for my semi-annual cleaning. I kind of like going to the dentist. I’m phobic about my teeth. Not the teeth themselves, but the thought of losing them for any number of odd reasons. I’ve had dreams about losing my teeth and have a doctor approved plan in place should I ever have a tooth knocked out. It’s probably a past life thing. I like to be prepared for any contingency. Dr. Z has been my dentist for almost 20 years and is patient about my paranoia, assuring me that that my teeth are not only doing well, but that they look great. Dr. Z is not only a great dentist, he is also one of my spiritual teachers.
Dr. Z hasn’t always filled that role. It’s something he evolved into as he himself evolved more and more into himself as he got older. We are about the same age. Before he became my spiritual sensei, I appreciated him for his attention to detail and his artistic approach to his work. He’s not a tooth mechanic, but an artist. Yes, he practices dentistry with a high degree of skill, but he always wants to make sure that your teeth look their best. Teeth are your face to the world. They tell part of your story.
It started slowly about 15 years ago. At first it was having his hygienists’ tools, and bibs and clips go from basic white and steel to the colors of sherbet. Then he moved his office to the penthouse of his building with floor to ceiling windows with a panoramic view of downtown and defied convention by (gasp) painting over the old mahogany walls and trim with super bright white paint. Around that time a resident cat appeared that would wander around like a little tiny ghost. She was never friendly, but she didn’t care because she wasn’t there for you. At some point there was the addition of a gorgeous rooftop garden which became an informal urban bird sanctuary.
And then the moment came when all things changed, when I could see that he was truly following his own inner compass or maybe they were his demons. My co-worker at the time told me about it first. He came back from his cleaning and said, “there’s a naked woman on the ceiling of Dr. Z’s office.” What? “There’s a naked woman on the ceiling.” I couldn’t imagine how that could even be a thing. Surely not a proper thing (clutching my imaginary pearls).
When I first saw it myself, I wasn’t immediately sold. I studied it in my reclined chair while the hygienist scraped away at my teeth. It was on a giant canvas affixed to the ceiling. The technique was a stylized comic done in glittery paint. It struck me at first as a little exploitative. A forty-something year-old man put a painting of a woman on his office ceiling. Yes, she was naked, with bedroom eyes, hair blowing in the wind, mouth slightly open wearing a harness that covered up her parts. She reminded me of Barbarella. She had a knife tucked into her leg harness and it looked like she was ascending towards a helicopter on a ladder, inexplicably holding a baby tiger. Yes, a baby tiger. I wondered what the Medicare aged woman next to me was thinking, but by the end of my visit, I knew I was pretty much sold. I think it was the Barbarella hair. It certainly was the baby tiger.
Dr. Z’s path to choosing to not care what other people thought of him came at a time when I was struggling to pretend that the job I was doing at the time (practicing healthcare law) fulfilled me and was the right thing to do. Because you know that when you are a smart person, going to law school and becoming a lawyer is the right thing to do. And staying at a job you hate because it pays all your bills is also the right thing to do. And so without me being really conscious of it, he began to be one of my teachers by demonstrating the benefits of living life under your own set of rules.
I heard through my hygienist that he lost some clients over his aesthetics. But new ones were gained that aligned with his sensibilities. Over the years more quirky art showed up and he started throwing summer parties for his clients on his garden rooftop. You could tell he was living in financial abundance, not just by the things he had, but how he chose to spend his time including dropping down to working only four days a week. Rumor had it from that former co-worker that Dr. Z spent his free time riding a motorcycle on the freeway east of the mountains. I think that co-worker had a man-crush on Dr. Z, the kind of crush men have when they admire the way a fellow man lives. Dr. Z teaches at the university and several times a year he and his non-profit travel abroad to deliver dental care to vulnerable and underserved populations.
So there I was a few days ago reclined in the chair beneath Barbarella and her baby tiger, when Dr. Z sits down next to me and says, “You’re looking kind of casual,” noting my hoodie, jeans, and slip resistant canvas lace ups. He says this once a year. You see, he thinks I’m still an attorney. I’m pretty sure I told him once that I wasn’t, but I don’t think it sank in. It doesn’t for a lot of people. He doesn’t know that when I leave his office I will go to that high-end grocery store to bag groceries and process returns and send people on their breaks. He doesn’t know that I followed my own inner compass (or inner demons as you will) and left a world that did not feed the real me and did not love me the way that I loved it. He doesn’t know that I look at his life for clues as to how to better live mine.
I made a comment about his latest piece of art, a black feather boa chandelier with teardrop finials (it’s much prettier than it sounds, trust me) and he chuckled. I then told him that he was my spirit animal. He seemed taken aback so I continued: “You live life well. You are great at what you do. You’re financially successful. You seem to enjoy what you have and you give zero fucks what people think about you.” He responded, “You can’t spend your life trying to appeal to everyone. It will never make you happy.”
Dear reader, join me in letting go of the “I should or I shouldn’t”, “what will they think”, “maybe nobody will like it”, “who am I to try”, “what if I fail”. And while you are at it, don’t forget to champion other people’s courageous acts and celebrate their successes. May we question our own pearl clutching, open our minds, and consider letting go of the outdated rules that bind us, the ones that state what is right and what is wrong for ourselves and for others.