2:10 Thoughts, Hormones and Television

A Constant Companion

I must admit, I am addicted to television. The minute I walk into my apartment, a quick flick on the remote and the telly on goes. As I previously mentioned, there isn’t exactly a wide range of decent entertainment on Israeli cable. For me, any crap will do. One reason for my love of telly is that I have come to realise I am unable to sit in silence, the sound of it (excuse the oxymoron) drives me mad. Maybe it is due to the fact that previous to my current living predicament, I always lived with a house full of people and along with this, a lot of noise. In addition, I think silence provides my mind with a window of opportunity for the mechanics to tick and the thoughts to start accumulating. I am a big thinker; watching telly is one technique I have resorted to, to keep this mind at rest. It is just such a shame my Israeli box set is stuffed full with such English/American visual-crap. Saying this, as you will come to see, some of this drivel can actually raise some interesting questions.

A Matter of Sex?

One Friday afternoon, Effy and I did you the usual rush towards Ashdod in his white mini van, to make it home in time before the arrival of Shabbat. I hadn’t realised that I had been in heavy state of daydream for a large part of the journey from Tel Aviv. Effy questions my silence, concerned that I was not my usual nattering self. In turn and, in a serious tone, I begin to elaborate on a documentary I had watched that morning.

As with most mornings, with coffee in one hand, I have the remote in the other and spend a good five minutes of the day deciding what should be accompanying my breakfast. Sometimes it is SkyNews reporters, sometimes it is Martha Stewart, other times it is Oprah. This morning, my company was a Texan desperate for a sex change.

The topic of discussion on this insightful documentary was transgender, whereby a man/woman identifies with the opposite sex of that they were born. This documentary followed the transition of a woman who underwent medical intervention to ‘become’ a man. The point of my discussion in particular relates to the effect of injected testosterones to this woman/man. He took daily shots of hormones so that his voice would drop, that his hair growth would increase, and so that he develops male ‘features’. He spoke of how hormones made him feel less emotional, that he no longer had the urge to cry, that he didn’t seem to care about the ‘stupid’ things that use to bother him and that all he could ever think about was sex.

The Great Hormonal Debate

Now, this did make me think. As I stared at the bottom of my mug, observing that I was in great need of a refill, I wondered what state I would be left in if certain dimensions of my character were taken away and, particularly, if my emotional and sensitive character traits were deleted. This programme made me wonder how much of whom I am is purely a result of my hormonal makeup. Do I have a tendency to cry when watching a heart-felt story on Oprah as I am sensitised to other human pain from oestrogen, or is it a result of the person I am, my inner soul? On a grander scale, are certain people particularly caring because they are sensitised by certain bodily chemicals, or is it due to innate human qualities of humanity?

If Effy was to be drenched with female hormone, would he no longer be the person he is, no longer attracted to me in the male sense, no longer macho to be my keeper and carer? Reversely, if I was given daily shots of testosterone, would I no longer care for him as much as I do, would I analyse ever dynamic of my relationship with him a great deal less? Would I be as analytical as I am, always over-thinking every situation in my life, if I was given a few chemicals and, therefore, would not be in need of watching this crap in the first place?

The idea of what defines us is so complex, whether it is our soul or simply, our thoughts and feelings as a consequence of chemical reactions, combustion of hormones, dictating our mood and behaviour. Would all of the worlds problems be solved if all major leaders and dictators, most of which are men, were doused with oestrogen ... maybe their egos would no longer be animated by war and terror.

Back to the Mini Van

As usual, Noodles’ thoughts go way off, although, afterall, this was the track of my day dreaming, however complex. Back to the drive, as Shabbat’s curtains are near to opening:

Effy: Oi, what you thinking about … by the look of your face, it seems serious.
Natalie: Oh nothing... I was just wondering. Honey, how much of me do you think is me? I mean, am I what I am or is it just my hormones?
Effy: Huh? … Well, Nat … I have always wondered! (in a sarcastic tone)

I divulge into the documentary.

Effy: Nat, you are who you are, you cannot take away the fact that your character is caring and passionate ... that is integral to you. Or, if it was just hormones, deep down, we would all be pretty much the same.

Nat: That is rather sensitive of you to say! Should you be telling me something?!

If my analogy is partly true, male testosterone could be an effective second resolution to easing my chaotic mind (the first being television). To be honest though, I do not think I could handle all that extra body hair.