Three miles ran and a day full of smiles later, I’m surrendering to the temptation of writing down whatever it is that comes to mind before I take a shower (I smell pretty terrible right now).
When I was in high school, I feel like I was a lot more open about writing in a certain way that produced something other than just a simple entry – in fact, I collected most of my “blog” entries into a notebook I recently found. Although – looking back on it – it was mostly lame stuff about unrequited attraction, and my own failures in attempting to express through speech the things I usually only wrote. Somehow I’d convinced myself that there was no way to be judged if all I ever did was write – but if I spoke, there was a large chance for regretting something – anything.
Needless to say, I was right. But where’s the fun in keeping it all to myself? I’m a closet histrionic whore.
I speak more than I used to. For a while, I’ve had no choice but to communicate through words – and, surprisingly enough, I call people more than I used to. In the past, I realize that I used AIM and all that to communicate, but now I hardly use that at all. Actually, that’s probably not true. AIM was just a gateway drug and Facebook is the inevitable crack version of it. But even then, I really do call more, or at least I try to.
Some people would probably say that’s also untrue, but generally, I’ve been better with the phone. I was very good with the phone when I was in New York – I swear I’d call everyone all the time – especially Janella! And I used to Skype with Anton and listen to his songs for hours at a time (I don’t know if that ever annoyed any of my roommates, but I don’t think I was ever really around to annoy them anyway). Mostly, I guess, people call me, because they know I really don’t call, but that I’m almost always available to talk if they want to. Honestly, though, I’m less afraid to call people just to talk – I’m going to try to make a better habit of it in the coming years.
I should really stop being available for people to just randomly call, though, because that makes it seem like I’m always putting others’ needs before myself. Or there are those who’d see it another way and think I’m an asshole because I don’t make an effort to call and improve our friendship. Actually, this is the biggest problem for me when I play the Sims, too – I usually play as a workaholic that can’t sustain friendships (or make them) without cheating.
The positive side to all this is that I think I’m a pretty good temporary friend. I honestly enjoy getting to know people, because people are most open during that ‘first impression’ window. That’s the most enjoyable part of friendships. It’s a terrible thing to admit – because most new friendships I’ve incurred are usually these kinds of friendships: fun, fleeting, temporary. That may just be because I have plenty of friends that I’ve known for years and still actively keep in contact with and share a loving, accepting, and utterly ridiculous and fantastic culture of drama-free fun, but I know at some point I’ll have to try and strengthen new relationships to become the kind that will brighten my life just as my tried-and-true friends have been doing for years. Someday there will be a space where being yourself is okay, because no matter what – you’re loved beyond even your own definition of the word.
Come to think of it, almost all my life, I’ve been in spaces where I’ve been my self without much regard for how I was perceived. But keep in mind that the “self” is a malleable term, and whoever I am is whoever I choose to be at the moment. This, admittedly, is a completely different understanding of the concept of “self” that most people (I find) accept. We can be anything and anybody we want to be at any point and time – whoever you want to be, as long as it fulfills you in some way, is who you are. To the world, only your actions will define who you really are – but that space is limited, incomprehensive, and simply a result of whoever it is you end up choosing to become.
I’m riding high on endorphins, so forgive me for entertaining this annoying, Berkeleyan discussion of identity. But, honestly, I don’t think I could feel so fulfilled and confident about my worth as a person if I hadn’t learned the importance of not limiting myself to an identity based on how others perceive me. I can be “true” to my “self” listening to Marilyn Manson and T-Pain, reading manga and Nabokov, or enjoying Batman Beyond and Schindler’s List – who the fuck really cares? None of this shit means you’re a hypocrite – we’re all fundamentalists about a lot of things – it takes a lot more to be a phony. As long as you enjoy the shit, you’re honest – you’re okay.
(Or maybe I’m just afraid of admitting I’m a phony, myself.)
Eh, you know what? Dirt off my shoulder. I’m pretty happy with who I am; I’ve done enough soul-searching to be able to judge my own actions for their merit (or lack thereof), although I always feel bad and guilty if people end up not liking me.
Well, you know what they say – practice makes improvement. That applies to matters of all kinds, especially the self. There's always room for fixing if you're broke.
That’s enough for now. I have to take a shower because my own odor is killing me.
