sometimes i feel like i understand too much for my age; other times i sit for hours in front of a keyboard with fingers that know nothing.
my father pulled me aside a while ago and asked me if i was trying to reinvent myself. i knew what he meant but i asked him to explain what the fuck he was talking about if only to silently enjoy his cautiously worded response:
"well, youve covered yourself with tattoos. you usually have a beard despite how good you looked when you interviewed with the state police. your body size has doubled since you were in high school. i look at all these smaller things and see a bigger picture. it makes me think youre trying to become a different person."
i appreciate the steps my father has taken over the years to become a more personable individual. it took him the better part of thirty years but i think hes finally starting to comprehend the world as a dynamic, somewhat self-actualized individual rather than an outwardly emotionless, stoic, retired circuit court judge.
i do, however, think he misfired on his assessment of who i am and where i stand.
few people outside my close network of friends know that i even have a tattoo let alone a flowing tapestry that drapes my upper body. i always wear shirts that cover everything and i almost always decline requests to see the ink. i didnt have an emotionally dreadful childhood, i havent experienced a particularly traumatic event and i certainly dont consider myself to be on the fringe of society.
i simply enjoy the artwork.
people tend to either love beards or hate them. ive heard women say they dont like facial hair because they think the man is trying to hide something. i find it interesting that many of the same women wear copious amounts of patently strategic makeup.
i dont have much to say about beards but i will say this:
one hundred years ago my father would have pulled me aside and said "son, why
dont you have a beard?"
my father wasnt exaggerating when he described my body size. when i entered my freshman year of high school i weighed a scant 130 pounds at a height of almost exactly six feet.
as i sit in this chair, sixteen years later, i find myself pushing 250 big ones according to the counterweight scale we have all seen at one time or another lurking in the doctors office. some of us hate scales, many of us find them exceedingly benign and yet others see a source of intrigue. i happen to fall into the last group.
yeah, im fucking overweight.
i can also push 350 pounds off my chest.
i come from the school of thought which mandates that humans should set outlandish goals and plow through them as if they were ether; if members of our species indefatigably brainstormed a viable process to safely place men on another celestial body then i have a duty to continuously push myself to the very brink of genetic potential.
anyone who claims they like everything about theirself is either a liar or someone who hasnt been in a situation in which the malevolence would manifest itself.
im extremely stubborn. i hate the sound of my voice. i have the wrists of an eight-year-old asian girl. im agoraphobic. im acrophobic. im a perfectionist. im argumentative. im pessimistic. i get nervous when i have to merge in heavy traffic. i have trouble speaking my mind without the aid of pharmaceuticals. i hate to admit that im wrong. i dont take criticism well. i freak out when i have to use utensils that have been in someone elses mouth.
anyone who claims they dislike everything about theirself is either a liar or someone who hasnt been in a situation in which the benevolence would manifest itself.
i have a strong sense of empathy. im compassionate. im trustworthy. im ethical. im a good advocate. i work hard. i can juggle cutlery.
so now then:
would i change anything if i had the opportunity to reinvent myself?
absolutely.
would i reinvent myself if i had the opportunity to change anything?
not for a second.
