This morning was business as usual. Husband and I sipped coffee and wrangled babies and watched bits of the Today Show between episodes of SpongeBob and Dora. At a certain point, I whipped out Laptop and began my morning surfing. One of my first stops was White Hot Truth where I stumbled upon a stellar post called Monday Morning Sex Talk. Just those four words embarrassed me. But of course I had to keep reading. Of course. Because this is what happens. We see the word 'sex' and we become intrigued and tantalized. That is why you will not stop reading this now.
Told you so.
In this insightful post, entrepreneurial fire-starter extraordinaire Danielle LaPorte bemoans the fact that even the most shiny, wide-awake, conscious, honest souls among us don't talk about sex. LaPorte suggests that this is problematic insofar as what we talk about, the ideas we revere and explore, represent what matters to us. Ergo, not talking about sex is tantamount to deeming it unimportant.
LaPorte makes an interesting argument, namely that there is a fundamental and deep connection between sexual existence and total existence. She writes, "You can be sure that your sex life is a microcosm of the macrosm of your entire life. Deep but quiet. Repressed. Rigorous. Loving but slightly aggressive. Playful and sweet. Dutiful. Whatever is going down in the sack is going round in your life as a greater theme. So maybe we should talk about it more. At least to ourselves."
Fascinating thought. Compelling theory. One which we will likely never be proven true or false, well, because no one talks about sex. But I wonder whether there is more to this phenomenon of universal sexy silence? Why don't we talk more (with each other or ourselves) about sex? Is it really because we rank it low on the list of priorities? Or does this have more to do with old school embarrassment, notions of privacy and propriety, deeply-entrenched cultural mores? Why is this subject so off limits publicly and psychically?
Or, maybe it's not. Maybe there are plenty of you out there who talk about sex morning, noon, and night. And maybe doing so does not turn your cheeks pink or make you cringe or giggle. But there are some of us (me) who are a little more tentative, a little more reserved, a little more uncertain about tackling this topic. And maybe I like many of you need what LaPorte calls a "Sexy Shake Up." Maybe it behooves all of us to ask ourselves a few of the questions LaPorte provocatively poses: "What if we treated our sex lives with the same importance as our diet? What if we put as much effort into cultivating our sexuality as we did our intellect? What if we talked about our sex lives like we talked about, say, our health, or our satisfaction with work?"
Just typing this post makes me anxious. Good thing I have a blog called Ivy League Insecurities and not Ivy League Invincibility. Don't worry (Mom, Grammy, Husband, Me), I'm not going to start a revolution of sexual awareness on this blog. Tomorrow I will go back to posting about decidedly PG subjects like potty training and privilege. But I felt compelled to do this post because my friend Danielle is on to something. There is something, something big, we are not talking about (enough). So, I decided to talk about that thing. Or, at least talk about the fact that we're not talking about it. Hey, it's a start.
Why do we not talk about sex more? Why is it so often relegated to the "cultural fringe" of society and consciousness? Why the abundance of sexy silence? I bet you are all too embarrassed to even comment on this one. Prove me wrong!