Life without limits can be perilous

Two women have been in the news a lot lately.

First, at 39 years old, Anna Nicole Smith, the woman who sank to the murky bottom of the dumb blonde stereotype, died in pure tabloid style. She was found dead in a hotel room so full of drugs it was described as looking like a pharmacy. No real surprise there. In the days before her death, according to reports, Smith could barely form sentences or walk upright.

The flip side of the tragedy was that less than six months ago, just days after the birth of her daughter, Smith’s son died the same kind of death while sleeping in a chair in his mother’s hospital room.

Days after his death, Smith, turning to the only thing she seemed to know how to do, staged a faux wedding photo opportunity with her attorney cum companion, Howard K. Stern. A man described by the judge who was asked to determine where Smith’s body would be buried, as perhaps “an enabler.”

Dressed in a low-cut wedding gown, Smith rolled in the surf and ate fried chicken and smiled for the camera. All while awaiting toxicology reports on her son and as the controversy over the paternity of her child slogged through the courts.

Her bizarre death is another bizarre chapter in a tawdry life. Like so many modern celebrities, Smith was more famous for being famous – and making famously bad choices – than anything else. Her death, and the media circus surrounding it, reflects that.

Now, another troubled blonde is making headlines. Again. Britney Spears, like Smith, is no stranger to scandal. In recent years she has had her share of trouble. She was whipped by the press for her questionable parenting skills. Her made-for-MTV marriage imploded publicly and her glad-to-be-free-of-that-man antics with Paris Hilton, another infamous blonde, which led to photos of her pantyless escapades being published all over the Internet, hinted at a young woman who didn’t quite have her kit together.

Recently, at a Los Angeles salon, Spears grabbed the clippers and shaved her own head. Even for a woman who sobs on camera begging to be left alone, and then goes out of her way to make herself available to the paparazzi, it was a strange move.

Then, in what has become the trendy way to hide from your own bad press, she ducked into and then out of seclusion in rehab. She did this three times in one week. And, of course, she asked that her privacy be respected. (Where was that wish when she was hopping into and out of cars without wearing any underwear?)

And somewhere Spears’ two babies, like Smith’s infant daughter, are essentially motherless.

When you look at and read about Spears and Smith, it’s clear that something has been, or in the case of Smith, was missing from the women’s lives.

And to those of us who grew up with aunts and uncles, parents and grandparents, neighbors and teachers and a community of role models who did their job; to those of us who manage every day to live our un-glamorous, un-famous lives within the boundaries of polite society and good taste; to those of us who are shackled by the constraints of good behavior and courtesy and, well, the fear of hurting ourselves and others, that missing element is simple.

What Smith lived without, and Spears hasn’t seen enough of in her young life, are limits. Boundaries. An outer perimeter to what is acceptable. A line in the sand you hesitate to step over.

For Smith and Spears and Hilton and a slew of infamous young women – and men – who have nothing more to worry about than how often they appear in each issue of People magazine, or The National Enquirer, life doesn’t come with limits.

That’s too bad. Limits hold you back and keep you safe and protected. Limits keep you away from the dangerous edge.

On the surface, it would seem that the party girls who’ve made the news recently had it all. Money, fame and freedom.

But what they tried to navigate without, and what probably saves us all in the end, is an invisible line that lets you see just how far is too far.

The line you don’t want to cross.