I am starting to figure out that some days I just wake up
angsty and/or philosophical. I don’t know when or why this started, but it has
been occurring a little more frequently lately than not. This morning my mind
has been tracking down a path I am not too familiar with—the path of identity
development.
For some reason the question of my mind this morning has
been something along these lines: How did the high school version
of myself become the person I am today? It sometimes seems the person I’ve become bares
little resemblance to that particular version of myself. Which calls to
question, was I ever that perceived version, or is it some mirage I cling to,
to make myself mourn something that never really existed?
Before we go any further my friends, let me say this: this
is not a call for attention like, “Hey look, I am going through crisis,” or
“Oh, woe is me, I have lost my identity and the only way to gain it back is to
move back to my hometown and reestablish everything about my former life.” What
this is instead is trying to put to words what I think many of my friends and
family are going through/have gone through.
I think there just comes a place and time where one day we
wake up and discover we are a bit emotionally detached. I assume it is pretty
universal. There are enough movies about it, and heck even concept albums and
songs. Some people recognize what they are going through, some people can
simply identify that something isn’t right, and they don’t know what to do
about it. I think I lay somewhere between those two camps.
I can tell you right now that I wonder how the sweet,
compassionate kid of 16 became a man who is nearly entirely impossible to
please. Sure, outwardly not a lot has changed. I still speak kindly and train
myself to be courteous to everyone. I force myself to remain empathetic, but I
find it harder by the year to naturally be kind. But it is a struggle well
worth fighting for. Kindness. Kindness. Kindness.
Kindness is lacking today. In a world that has grown
accustomed to spouting off the first thing that comes to mind we have become
judges and critics that look for the right to freely express themselves. Now,
for those of you raising the alarm in fear that I am going to denounce that
freedom of expression is important, hold your pretty hats. We do need these
outlets of expression, but my observation about that is this: freedom of
expression has become less about self-discovery and expression, and more about
permission to rail and critique anything that we aren’t pleased with.
Think about advertising lately. There have been a couple
that have really bothered me lately. The reason? The premise of the entire
campaign was product shaming. I think particularly about the one that bashes
iPads and another one that does the same with some luxury car. Now if you
notice, I didn’t mention the products…because I can’t recall what they are. I
namely recall that they were bashing Apple and a competitor. I can’t tell you a
single positive thing about the product because I can’t even tell you the name
of it.
Those types of advertising feed into the way I approach my
life. When people ask how I am, more often than not I express some displeasure
in something. I don’t focus on how great it was to work from Atlanta for part
of a week; I focus on getting stuck in the Snowpocalypse. I don’t tell someone
about an artistic pursuit I am currently undertaking; I tell them about a
relational woe that I am going through. And folks…that’s just not who I
remember 16-year-old James being.
I remember that dude being insecure, but to overcome that he
tried too hard to do things that would impress people instead of focusing on
the negative things around him. When things weren’t going well he put forth a
little effort to make them better instead of finding ways to explain away
deficiency.
All of that said, what I am missing is the segue. What took
place to change me? I often think about character transformation as evolution.
Much like successful species, those who successfully acclimate to today’s
culture are those that evolve; they change with each new presentation of
society’s standards.
But this morning, I wondered if that is an inadequate
metaphor or description. Maybe what I have gone through is a series of little
deaths and rebirths. That would account for the distance between myself now and
a kid who upon finding out he inadvertently hurt Leslie Bizzell’s feelings went
out of his way to let her know he never intended for that to happen, a kid who
changed seats on the bus so he could have that moment with her.
The problem, again, is not who I have become. Honestly, there
are facets of myself I like way more than that younger version of myself. But
there are parts that I hang onto, and I wonder if I should. In the process of
becoming the 35-year-old version of myself things obviously had to change. That
is the nature of the beast. But here comes the turn.
What I find myself doing today is mourning a version of
myself that I don’t know exists outside nostalgia. It reminds me of Zach
Braff’s Garden State. He says
something along this line: Maybe that’s all family really
is. A group of people that miss the same imaginary place. And I think the same
idea rolls over to identity. I wonder if development of character can be seen
along the same lines. Maybe the things that we miss about ourselves are
fiction…and that fiction keeps us from being able to accept who we are. Maybe
critiquing the fire out of ourselves is our way of maintaining a beautiful
existence that never actually played itself out. Maybe we just don’t know how
to accept ourselves as we are, and these little games we play remind of us when
we were a good person, because we don’t think we are anymore.
I don’t really have the answers,
but I know this: I like parts of who I am today, and I don’t like parts of who
I am. I also know this: there are things I miss about my remembered self, and
parts I would never want to live through again. But as Albus Dumbledore once
said: It does not do to dwell on dreams and forget to
live, remember that.
So, in other words…maybe I should get out of my
head and onto living my life.
