So, Maybe I Do Care 'Bout My Bad Reputation

I’ve seen the phrase “what other people think of you is none of your business” quite often.

As an upwardly mobile woman with a unique sense of style and a long-standing rebellious streak, I wholeheartedly agreed with it for a good long while. In essence, it was a variation of my rebellious tendency to shout that I didn’t give a fuck about what anyone thinks of me. A classier version, albeit, but something pretty similar all the same. Who would really argue with that? That part of it, the face value aspect, still rings fairly true, doesn’t it? A person should unapologetically be who they are without asking for others’ approval to be, to own their space in the world, to live without guilt.

But with self-awareness comes a need to look at that statement on a deeper level, to turn it over and examine all the cracks and crevices in the full light of day to see it for what it really is and not just the pretty package you get when it’s sitting in the shadowed corners of dusk. A lot of things sound good, look good, and get quoted when they’re left in the dark. For instance, I look pretty decent without makeup in the middle of the night, but put some fluorescents on me and whoa… run for cover, man, and wait until I put on my face. Words are like that. Words are like that more than we fully realize with so many of us sharing silly inspirational memes after a second’s thought that aren’t so applicable to anything remotely rational or inspirational or good once examined a little harder. There’s this one Marilyn Monroe quote that comes to mind that I’ve seen more than a time or two. It says, “A wise girl kisses but doesn’t love, listens but doesn’t believe, and leaves before she is left.” If you don’t think about it much, surely that seems like badassery. But on further inspection, all it says to me is that she probably had borderline personality disorder because for fuck’s sake that’s exactly what people with said disorder do and say. Is that really meme-worthy? Hardly.

When you dig a little deeper concerning that sentiment that another person’s opinion of you isn’t your business, it doesn’t have as much value. At least, it doesn’t to me. It doesn’t have to be about you not being allowed to be your true self. But, when you’re on that path to self-awareness, a difficult and time-consumingly emotional process, isn’t it important that the person you are inside match what people perceive you to be? Isn’t it worth understanding whether the image, the you that you project to the world—to your contacts, your associates, acquaintances, friends, loved ones—is the same as the you that you are striving to be, the you that you want to be?

I watched SLC Punk as a teen. It was one of those films that left its mark on me. I wasn’t in the punk scene in the 80s by far, but I related to those characters being a rebellious teen in a conservative area

that was unaccepting of anything perceived as even remotely different and like Stevo and Bob, it made me rebel even harder. Stevo said some things in that film that I couldn’t relate to at the time being so entrenched in my own acts of defiance, but the more I’ve grown as a person, the more self-awareness I’ve gained, the more they’ve come back to me almost like the sucker punch Stevo got with Bob that changed everything for him. He said, “And so there I was. I was gonna go to Harvard. It was obvious. I was gonna be a lawyer and play in the God-damned system, and that was that. I was my old man. He knew, so what else could I do? I mean, there's no future in anarchy; I mean let's face it. But when I was into it, there was never a thought of the future. I mean we were certain the world was gonna end, but when it didn't, I had to do something, so fuck it. I could always be a litigator in New York and piss the shit out of the judges. I mean that was me: a trouble maker of the future. The guy that was one of those guys that my parents so arrogantly saved the world for, so we could fuck it up. We can do a hell of a lot more damage in the system than outside of it. That was the final irony, I think. That, and well, this. And "fuck you" for all of you who were thinking it: I guess when all was said and done, I was nothing more than a God-damned, trendy-ass poser.”

He grew to that point that he understood change isn’t made on the fringes. I’ve seen that myself for a long time now. He also saw the changes he made wouldn’t exactly be approved of by his younger self or by young punks and old ones alike, but he was okay with that. The fact that someone else didn’t approve of his choices wouldn’t change those choices In the process of self-awareness, though, that look into another person’s perceptions is needed to grow, to really become okay with what you’ve made of yourself or to realize what else needs to change.

It doesn’t really matter one way or another if a person likes the way I wear my hair or thinks I have too many tattoos unless that person is hiring me for a job, but it does matter the overall image I project. That is my business. The person I feel like on the inside should match the person I show the world otherwise I have a whole lot of work left to do. To assume that the outward projection isn’t my business is to fail at awareness altogether in favor of something easier and lazier. It lets me escape half the journey, and what’s the fun in that?

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Skipping the fiction this week for Sunday Confessions in favor of something that's been more or less on my mind for awhile now. Thanks for reading and be sure to check out the other posts today on More Than Cheese and Beer!

It's Not Where You Are But Who You Are

The gray-white drapery of Spanish moss across solid, thick branches of antiquated Live Oaks has been a

part of my scenery my entire life. I was born in the South, here in South Georgia, and the landscape here has always made my heart full. There’s almost nothing that a pink orange sunset drifting through the pine forest across from my house can’t humble.

The culture…well, let’s just say it ain’t exactly a melting pot ‘round these parts. Most people are very similar in religious beliefs—this is the Bible belt, hobbies—hunting and football, and subcultural norms—Rednecks, sexism, and racism are all too common. My dad, though, was a music-loving, drug-dealing hippie and wasn’t really the typical Southern man in most regards. With his influence and perhaps a tinge of inherited rebellion, I stuck out like a sore thumb bandaged in vintage 70s hand-me-downs and red, glazy eyes. I didn’t fit in, and even though I made some very strong friendships with other misfits during my formative years that helped me make it through the horrors of high school as a football hating, Jesus dissing, rainbow-flag carrying weirdo, I wanted out. The temptation to run as far as I could make it—to Canada in most of my daydreams--was so strong. Sometimes, it’s all I thought about…getting out of this place.

I never made it out though. In fact, I’m still here in this area with my kiddo and my animals and my garden and two acres of land—things I never would have thought would make me happy when I was younger.

I have a maple leaf tattooed behind my left ear to symbolize that time and that temptation. Part of me still

wonders what my life would be like if I had made it out. It’s one of those dreams unrealized and before I ever noticed the pain of that raisin-in-the-sun, I had a child and an ex-husband, a house with a mortgage and a mom who might get more than a little depressed if she couldn’t see her grandchild on a regular basis. It was no longer feasible to run away like a 16 year old mope who was angry at the world. And, truthfully, it would have been fucking selfish to take my kid away from his family based on my angsty notion that my problems as a kid stemmed from where I lived and not from my struggle to find who I am.

The biggest journey I’ve taken in life didn’t require packing a few belongings into a backpack and traveling thousands of miles on a Greyhound bus wrapped in a flannel shirt with grunge bands blaring through the speakers of my generic earbuds and matching cd player (yes I’m that fucking old) the way my 16 year old self pictured it. It was done right here…within myself. It was after that distance traveled from the me who realized she gave up her dreams to the me that realized being somewhere different wasn’t necessary to be the person I was meant to be that I got the tattoo…a reminder of the temptation but also a reminder not to enter autopilot. At some point in my life I’d given up on all my dreams starting but not ending with my dash to Canada and it took that self-journey to remind me that I’ve got one shot at getting this right. One shot at life. Getting mired down in the muck of surviving day to day life with the stress of a 9-5 job and domestication isn’t me. That tattoo is a reminder to keep my passion, to fight for what I want or what I believe in, and make the most of the time I’ve got.

Seems silly to think a simple maple leaf tucked behind a girl’s ear can encompass so much, but that’s the beauty of life sometimes, isn’t it?

This has been part of Sunday Confessions with More than Cheese and Beer. Check out her own post on her blog as well as the other bloggers who linked up today. You can also find anonymous confessions on her Facebook page.