Future Selves

I’m unsure I ever thought about what kind of adult I would be when I was younger. I don’t believe I ever considered what my life would look like after I left my house and struck out on my own.

Even now, I cannot be bothered to make a plan for what I want the future to appear as. I’m happy to get through each day, hoping it was a more pleasant day than the one before but understanding as not all can work that way. I’m happy when I can see the heads of the roses that are trying to stick out to the beginning of winter start to drop, knowing that I have to let nature take its course and I can simply enjoy watching the progress.

Lately I’ve had friends worried about my single state. They cannot understand my blasé attitude surrounding my lack of attachments, and openly wonder why I am not hoping for an entanglement. And again, I’m unsure why I ever bothered putting so much stock in other’s opinions of my life.

Perhaps this is just how some people evolve. There continue to be some that feel the need to worry about some perceive them and actively and constantly share their opinions of those they’ve never met. I know that when I was (much) younger, I told my therapist that I had trouble going to the mall because I hated that people would be judging me. I remember he asked why I thought others were judging what I was wearing or how I was acting, and I told him, it was because I was doing that to others.

The look on his face that he couldn’t quite hide.

I would love to say that I immediately realized how narcissistic I sounded, but honestly I’m not even sure that was a word bandied about as often as it is now. It wouldn’t hurt my heart to say that I changed my judgey ways, but it would be a good 10 to 15 years later that most of that would fall off. Slowly I learned that anyone may be forming opinions of who I am by how I look or how I live my life, probably aren’t even actively involved in my life. They are making a snap decision based on a perception and may never know the reality of it.

I learned quickly that people were going to make a decision one way or another, so I learned to create what I called a costume. People often call it masking now, but for me, at the time, it was a way to influence how people saw me, and hopefully set the tone for any future interactions. I couldn’t control random individuals on the street, but I could absolutely sway an opinion by being funny and kind and boisterous. I cultivated that costume, adding and removing embellishments, changing the decorations and perfecting how quickly I could toss it on.

But damn that thing was heavy.

I found that it would take me longer and longer to recover from having to wear it. It took longer for me to bounce back putting it on and sometimes I just couldn’t be bothered to be anything other than myself in front of people I’d been wearing this thing in front of for years.

A few years ago I stepped out of working in front of the public 12 hours a day, 6 days a week. The costume has gotten stale. I haven’t worked at putting the whole thing on in years. Opting only to be polite, but not worried about how others will see me any longer. They can like me, they can hate me. Either way, I control who I let in my life and the effort it takes to make that decision is sometimes just not worth it.

My friends are fretting that I am not out actively scouring the city for someone to spend time with, but I’m more protective of my energy now. I’m finally, finally, comfortable in my skin, in my space. Besides, I have a lumbering block head that has only tripped me once or twice going down the steps, and I know that he doesn’t care if I snore.

So I have no idea if I bothered to have a vision of what my life would look like now all the way back then. But I don’t believe past me would be terribly upset about with the outcome.