Being Different
They talk about square pegs and round holes. They talk about oddballs and eccentrics. They ogle, patronize, and ostracize. That's them. What about us? "There must have been a moment at the beginning, where we could have said no. Somehow we missed it. Well, we'll know better next time," said Guildenstern reincarnated. Next time, eh? There's the rub.
But Guildenstern says what I mean. Somewhere in my developmental years I must have decided, I must have moved in this direction. Sometime I must have been young enough to say, "Life would be easier if I could just pretend to be like them." If I'm a square peg trying to fit board after board of round holes, who carved me?
I'm inclined to take responsibility for my own character, which means that when someone told me to be creative, to make myself be what I wanted to be, they didn't tell me the whole story. Someone somewhere forgot to tell me that even if I make myself correctly, if I do it well, and sand down every plane, and paint it in perfect detail I must still face those endless boards full of round holes.
They taught me as a teenager that I should learn to love myself the way I am. They told me how important it is to have self-esteem, and how I should be stronger than all the people telling me that I'm not good enough, because different doesn't always mean bad. So I learned tolerance, because I wanted people to tolerate me. The primary song says, "when your heart is filled with love, others will love you."
They weren't being entirely explicit. They didn't mention the seven or eight caveats, such as "Even if your heart is filled with love, you still have to shower every day, be the kind of person who smiles all the time even when you feel miserable, and for heaven's sake, never disagree!" Love is not enough to be loved, as any unrequited lover will attest. You have to fit in.
I toyed briefly with that idea yesterday while watching Bells Are Ringing with a good friend. I wondered if I am a good enough actor. Could I pretend to be the kind of person other people would like? Could I build myself a character filter that would only allow me to be those parts of me that overlap with somebody else? But I'm clearly not dedicated enough to the role (I can hear my ex-friend Katie saying). I couldn't cut my hair to their styles. I couldn't afford their clothes. So I conclude that I can't fill that role until somebody hires a wardrobe department and pays me some serious compensation for my hair!
Until then, I shall continue becoming who I started out to be, I suppose. I shall frown when I am unhappy, and I shall argue with strangers. I shall wear hand-me-downs and watch B-movies and foreign films on my 13-inch television. I shall continue to shower regularly, and read books with large words and very few pictures, or with no words at all.
But Guildenstern says what I mean. Somewhere in my developmental years I must have decided, I must have moved in this direction. Sometime I must have been young enough to say, "Life would be easier if I could just pretend to be like them." If I'm a square peg trying to fit board after board of round holes, who carved me?
I'm inclined to take responsibility for my own character, which means that when someone told me to be creative, to make myself be what I wanted to be, they didn't tell me the whole story. Someone somewhere forgot to tell me that even if I make myself correctly, if I do it well, and sand down every plane, and paint it in perfect detail I must still face those endless boards full of round holes.
They taught me as a teenager that I should learn to love myself the way I am. They told me how important it is to have self-esteem, and how I should be stronger than all the people telling me that I'm not good enough, because different doesn't always mean bad. So I learned tolerance, because I wanted people to tolerate me. The primary song says, "when your heart is filled with love, others will love you."
They weren't being entirely explicit. They didn't mention the seven or eight caveats, such as "Even if your heart is filled with love, you still have to shower every day, be the kind of person who smiles all the time even when you feel miserable, and for heaven's sake, never disagree!" Love is not enough to be loved, as any unrequited lover will attest. You have to fit in.
I toyed briefly with that idea yesterday while watching Bells Are Ringing with a good friend. I wondered if I am a good enough actor. Could I pretend to be the kind of person other people would like? Could I build myself a character filter that would only allow me to be those parts of me that overlap with somebody else? But I'm clearly not dedicated enough to the role (I can hear my ex-friend Katie saying). I couldn't cut my hair to their styles. I couldn't afford their clothes. So I conclude that I can't fill that role until somebody hires a wardrobe department and pays me some serious compensation for my hair!
Until then, I shall continue becoming who I started out to be, I suppose. I shall frown when I am unhappy, and I shall argue with strangers. I shall wear hand-me-downs and watch B-movies and foreign films on my 13-inch television. I shall continue to shower regularly, and read books with large words and very few pictures, or with no words at all.
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