There's a little article about Jason Robert Brown and a recent New York performance of his over here, containing a little throwaway comment about, "his contradictory image as a cocky borderline geek."
I mean, that's me. Except I guess you can take out borderline.
I was having a conversation with some people a few days ago, and was telling this story about watching Love Actually with a roommate of mine, who was unaware that All You Need is Love was actually a song recorded far before the movie was made. But when they found out that the roommate in question was female, they went, "Oh, ok, it was a girl," which made me pause and ask them, what's wrong with two guys watching Love Actually together? I mean, what if one of us happened to be (oh noes!) gay? Or what if neither of us was, what's so wrong about two straight guys watching a romantic movie? Just because it doesn't happen often (ok, ever) and isn't "normal," that gives you the right to think less of me?
There is nothing I hate more than people who try to label others. I suppose everyone does it, and I am no less guilty than any other person, but I think there's a difference between likes that are quantitatively different (liking Paris Hilton and thinking she's awesome) and likes that simply demonstrate a different appreciation of things (liking Before Sunset). I think anyone trying to label me based on things I like or am interested in would end up getting a very superficial view of my personality, either as a terrifying nerd (should the conversation be about Superman or Batman or something), a boring film snob (if it's about 2046) or just a plan old dick (if it's about racial politics and identity). But isn't that the only view we ever have of people? Everyone has thoughts swirling about inside of them, everyone tries to communicate them and everyone fails, in the end, to display themselves to their full advantage, as a thinking, feeling human being.
Then again, maybe everyone doesn't deal with this. Maybe it's only myself and a (small or large) minority of other people who do. Maybe other people are calm and confident in their definitions, in knowing who and what they are.
Showing posts with label self-awareness. Show all posts
Showing posts with label self-awareness. Show all posts
Monday, February 12, 2007
Monday, January 29, 2007
Running to Stand Still
For all the talk of self-awareness and nonconformity which I spout off at times, it is good (though embarassing and frustrating) to realize that I am not as intellectually independent or iconoclastic as I sometimes think. In general, being reminded of one's shortcomings it a humbling but valuable experience, one which keeps us from turning into Tom Cruise.
If there is anything I am guilty of, it is not giving myself enough credit. I have a spectacularly low level of confidence in myself, which (somewhat counterintuitively) leads to a high level of self-involvement. When you have a low self-esteem, you tend to assume that other people are unaffected by the things you do or the things you say; that when you're not around, other people live more or less the same life that they do when you are around. So you pull into your own little cocoon, assuming that people don't miss you, aren't thinking of you and certainly wouldn't want to hear from you. I've always been terrible at calling up friends because I always assume that people are out living happy lives, and if they wanted or needed to chat with me they would call me up.
It's so confining, and I'm so tired of it, but I'm at a loss as to how to really get beyond it. For the longest time I sought solace in relationships, or in the idea of a relationship, in the idea that getting someone to love me meant justification and legitimacy.
In retrospect, it's a terrifying thought.
Still, I suppose we all go through phases. And yet here I am, saddened to find that I am still that same odd little kid inside. There has to be a way out of this. There has to be. I just need to keep telling myself that.
If there is anything I am guilty of, it is not giving myself enough credit. I have a spectacularly low level of confidence in myself, which (somewhat counterintuitively) leads to a high level of self-involvement. When you have a low self-esteem, you tend to assume that other people are unaffected by the things you do or the things you say; that when you're not around, other people live more or less the same life that they do when you are around. So you pull into your own little cocoon, assuming that people don't miss you, aren't thinking of you and certainly wouldn't want to hear from you. I've always been terrible at calling up friends because I always assume that people are out living happy lives, and if they wanted or needed to chat with me they would call me up.
It's so confining, and I'm so tired of it, but I'm at a loss as to how to really get beyond it. For the longest time I sought solace in relationships, or in the idea of a relationship, in the idea that getting someone to love me meant justification and legitimacy.
In retrospect, it's a terrifying thought.
Still, I suppose we all go through phases. And yet here I am, saddened to find that I am still that same odd little kid inside. There has to be a way out of this. There has to be. I just need to keep telling myself that.
Saturday, January 20, 2007
The Unexamined Life
Some more T. S. Eliot thoughts.
I don't know that I ever explicitly considered the concept of the "buried life" in Eliot's work. I do know that what always attracted me to him was the sense of longing in his poetry, as well as his way with words and imagery. Prufrock is my favorite, a poem about a lonely, middle-aged man.
I find it interesting that most of the things I tend to write have a melancholic tone about them, all the moreso because I have generally thought of myself as an intrisically optimistic person. To be sure, I have always been shy, something which lends itself to sadness and reflectiveness. But shyness is not an active trait; you cannot "play" shy onstage without being a cliche. In order to come across as shy one must understand that shyness is rooted in the desire to be outgoing, to be vivacious and interesting; that desire is simply thwarted by neuroses and fears. It is in finding the moments where characters yearn to break free and find themselves unable to that shyness is effectively conveyed in a living way.
As I grow older, I find that I am almost entirely comprised of complete contradictions. I am shy, yet wish to expose myself emotionally on stage and screen. I'm quiet and introverted, yet can act incredibly arrogant and overbearing when meeting people. I'm a romantic, and yet intellectually I think I tend to come across as a smug cynic.
Cynicism is a funny thing. People who are called cynics generally think of themselves as pragmatists; it's not being unfair to think the things they think, it's simply being realistic. And yet, every cynic is, at heart, a romantic. It is because their romantic leanings and beliefs have been trod upon by the world that makes them react intellectually in the opposite direction, forming a wall of defense so that their soft, inner core can't be hurt. This sounds so cliche, the "whore with the heart of gold," and yet the effectiveness of that archtype reflects its inner emotional truth.
Uh, I think I just called myself a whore. At least I have a heart of gold?
I doubt so many things; about myself, about others, about the world. And at the same time, I am hopeful; oh, so hopeful.
I don't know that I ever explicitly considered the concept of the "buried life" in Eliot's work. I do know that what always attracted me to him was the sense of longing in his poetry, as well as his way with words and imagery. Prufrock is my favorite, a poem about a lonely, middle-aged man.
I find it interesting that most of the things I tend to write have a melancholic tone about them, all the moreso because I have generally thought of myself as an intrisically optimistic person. To be sure, I have always been shy, something which lends itself to sadness and reflectiveness. But shyness is not an active trait; you cannot "play" shy onstage without being a cliche. In order to come across as shy one must understand that shyness is rooted in the desire to be outgoing, to be vivacious and interesting; that desire is simply thwarted by neuroses and fears. It is in finding the moments where characters yearn to break free and find themselves unable to that shyness is effectively conveyed in a living way.
As I grow older, I find that I am almost entirely comprised of complete contradictions. I am shy, yet wish to expose myself emotionally on stage and screen. I'm quiet and introverted, yet can act incredibly arrogant and overbearing when meeting people. I'm a romantic, and yet intellectually I think I tend to come across as a smug cynic.
Cynicism is a funny thing. People who are called cynics generally think of themselves as pragmatists; it's not being unfair to think the things they think, it's simply being realistic. And yet, every cynic is, at heart, a romantic. It is because their romantic leanings and beliefs have been trod upon by the world that makes them react intellectually in the opposite direction, forming a wall of defense so that their soft, inner core can't be hurt. This sounds so cliche, the "whore with the heart of gold," and yet the effectiveness of that archtype reflects its inner emotional truth.
Uh, I think I just called myself a whore. At least I have a heart of gold?
I doubt so many things; about myself, about others, about the world. And at the same time, I am hopeful; oh, so hopeful.
Wednesday, January 03, 2007
Second Verse, Same As the First
1. The Rebel Sell: Why the culture can't be jammed, Joseph Heath & Andrew Potter
For various reasons, I've always been the kind of person who falls into things very quickly. To a certain extent, I suppose that implies a certain superficiality to my feelings; a Romeo-esque love of love, and when I was younger I think that was certainly the case, before I started to get into the nuts and bolts of relationships.
Well, that and I was desperate to get laid.
Sometimes I feel disturbingly open and simple; if the cliche of people is that of an iceberg, 80% (or whatever it is) below the surface, I feel like I'm one of those ancient Greek amphitheaters where you can stand at the top and see and hear everything with perfect clarity. I don't want to close up, I don't want to pull back from things, but often it seems I have little or no choice if I want to avoid emotional distress. At the same time, I would never want to miss out on something because I was shutting myself off from it. I think I'd rather be hurt trying to make something work than never, ever try. This also bleeds into my martyr complex, which finds the notion of suffering in the name of romantic passion rather attractive. I'm not much of a fan of it, but I always seem to find myself in the same sort of situations, so I don't think I can realistically deny that about myself.
Chuck Klosterman makes an interesting point in one of his essays: people are never self-aware. People who think they're extroverts often actually act introverted, as they perceive themselves as constantly monopolizing conversations. People who think they're creative understand themselves as creative in the typical, societally-understood paradigm of creativity; that is, they subscribe to someone else's definition of what it means to be creative, which is the exact opposite of true creativity, and so forth. So, maybe I'm not quite as obvious as I fear?
For various reasons, I've always been the kind of person who falls into things very quickly. To a certain extent, I suppose that implies a certain superficiality to my feelings; a Romeo-esque love of love, and when I was younger I think that was certainly the case, before I started to get into the nuts and bolts of relationships.
Well, that and I was desperate to get laid.
Sometimes I feel disturbingly open and simple; if the cliche of people is that of an iceberg, 80% (or whatever it is) below the surface, I feel like I'm one of those ancient Greek amphitheaters where you can stand at the top and see and hear everything with perfect clarity. I don't want to close up, I don't want to pull back from things, but often it seems I have little or no choice if I want to avoid emotional distress. At the same time, I would never want to miss out on something because I was shutting myself off from it. I think I'd rather be hurt trying to make something work than never, ever try. This also bleeds into my martyr complex, which finds the notion of suffering in the name of romantic passion rather attractive. I'm not much of a fan of it, but I always seem to find myself in the same sort of situations, so I don't think I can realistically deny that about myself.
Chuck Klosterman makes an interesting point in one of his essays: people are never self-aware. People who think they're extroverts often actually act introverted, as they perceive themselves as constantly monopolizing conversations. People who think they're creative understand themselves as creative in the typical, societally-understood paradigm of creativity; that is, they subscribe to someone else's definition of what it means to be creative, which is the exact opposite of true creativity, and so forth. So, maybe I'm not quite as obvious as I fear?
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