Imposter (part 2)
small pond, weird fish
I’ve been thinking about the difference between the anonymity of a city versus the accountability of a small town. When I say accountability, I mean the awareness that your day-to-day demeanour is more likely to be observed by people you live in proximity to and to whom you have social ties, however tenuous. If you’re repeatedly observed, you might get treated differently if, say, you act the bastard on the reg.
Living unobserved by anyone other than strangers has its benefits. For those finding and establishing themselves and their identity, it can be a blessing to be away from the eyes of anyone who knows you (or thinks they do). You can feel a sense of freedom to be who you want, behave as you like (to an extent), safe in the knowledge that the only judgement you’ll receive is from people you’ll most likely never see again.
The opposite is true in a small town. Having lived in one for the last several years, I have developed a sense of accountability to acting vaguely pleasant whenever out of the house. Not just for the sense of personal judgement, but because of extended social ties, because suddenly there is a community in which I am ensconced, among whom I aspire to have a reasonable standing. Not in terms of status, just that I hope to be perceived as a reasonable, trustworthy person.
If ‘out’, I brush my hair and wear something other than trackies less out of pride in my appearance, but to maintain a reasonable sense of public perception. My family is engaged in the local community and I don’t need rumours about me having lost it, even if on that day, I have. Holding some sense of self-awareness is a positive thing, I believe. At least, I find it to be so. It sort of keeps me on the straight and narrow. An internal infrastructure.
We all wear social masks, to some extent – knowing when to be polite, when to defer, adjusting your tone or what you choose to share and with whom. For those of you who have been reading my confessions for any length of time, you’ll know I don’t purport to be any sort of saint. But there is an element of playing the game that has to be done. Sing from the right song-sheet, even if your head is the ocean floor, no light and nothing but bizarre-looking critters floating about. Even if excessively earnest types trigger some sort of involuntary nervous laughter in you, no matter how serious the subject matter.
My sense of humour happens to border on the vulgar, the crude, the harsh. I’ve been hard-pressed to find many like-minded types in the pleasant town I live in, so I tend to keep it hidden away. And that’s okay. ‘Bring your whole self’ is one of those ideas that’s great in theory, but in practice…
I’m all for being authentic and genuine, but not every person you encounter needs to be regaled with the bungled kaleidoscope that is your emotional landscape, or what’s really on your mind (for me, it’s mostly Beyonce’s new album, Cowboy Carter. My fave tracks are Blackbiird, II Most Wanted, Levii’s Jeans and Flamenco, what are yours?)
I believe that as long as you are doing your best to be kind and a reasonably decent person, then how people perceive you is up to them. If they like or don’t like you, it’s all good. Besides, we’re all mostly so busy with our own lives that we don’t tend to ruminate or think much about other people, right? Unless they’re particularly prevalent in our own lives, like family or close friends.
Back in my chaos days, I used to let out all my bizarre ocean-floor critters at night. At night, wherever the party was, I let down my guard and allowed myself to be ruled by my thoughtless self. When I got sober, the behaviours changed, but the mind didn’t. I’ve just learned how to permit some of it through, through a filter. Remove the absolute filth, but let through enough dirt not to be a robot. To merge it all into one personality, instead of being a fishy Jekyll and Hyde.