“Why’d you do it, Foxxy?”
“I don’t know, but I have a possible theory.”
“I think I had this thing where I need everybody to think I am the greatest the ‘fantastic Mr. Fox’ and if they aren’t completely knocked out, dazzled, and kind of intimidated by me then I’m not good enough.”
Her unwavering gaze met mine. She wears her eyes like two diamonds cut into spheres, she looks at you hard, as if softness was something she gave up on a long time ago. After what feels like an eternity she utters “I think you like to be liked by others.” Instantly, she can tell its the lump in my throat that is stopping the words from getting out. Though I badly want to refute the claims given, I can’t. Dumbfounded, I know she is right. The truth is most of us are shipwrecked on the idea that “If I don’t love myself, who will?” This mindset is often hard to change.
I see this so often within the interactions of others; conversations, small talk, first impressions, etc. Since joining the race I have met a multitude of people, most of which I probably don’t remember, but the ones that do remind me that our minds are glue and they keep impressions fastened there like cheap wallpaper. Interesting, because everyone presupposes that one can know a person in the time it takes to say, “Hello.” But that’s never the whole story and we shouldn’t sacrifice the details by putting others in the tiny comic book boxes just so we can make their stories fit.
Growing up everyone was accounted for. We all had names. Some were meant to be endearing, playful even, others were not so lucky. “Hey stupid, spaz, geek, jock, slut, fag.” These were the definitions others would give us.
At the same time we were being told what we were, we were being asked, “What do you want to be when you grow up?” I always thought that was an unfair question. It presupposes that we can’t be what we already are. We were kids.
Growing up I wanted to be an architect, maybe because my grandfather was an architect, but more likely because I had a deep love of Legos. I wanted to build castles and create fantasies. Until one day, someone much older and cynical looked down at me and grumbled, “be more realistic.” No matter the answer given, I was always wrong.
See, they asked me what I wanted to be then told me what not to be. I was not the only one. We were being told that we somehow must become what we are not, sacrificing what we are to inherit the masquerade of what we will be. I was being told to accept the identity others will give me.
She stares at me waiting for a response. The truth is of course I do. Because oftentimes we live in a world as deep as the shallows, dive at your own risk. How are we to be beautiful in a world that delves no deeper than our skin?
We are stuck in this mentality that change is held only within our dimensions. That our bodies and looks are important but our ideas and beliefs are not. That thought is not malleable and ideas inflexible.
But the truth is pretty doesn’t always mean nice. Just like beauty doesn’t mean an easy life. Muscles don’t equal a strength of character. We put trust in our eyes, the first tools we learned to judge with. Still, we find ourselves listening to something that’s only function is to see.
Before I could lie, I realized I am no different than Mr. Fox. Often, “I need everybody to think I am the greatest the ‘fantastic Mr. Fox’ and if they aren’t completely knocked out, dazzled, and kind of intimidated by me then I’m not good enough.” As a child, I hid my heart under the bed because I was told: “Someday if you’re not careful, somebody is going to break it.” Take it from me, under the bed is not a good hiding place. Neither was my childhood mentality that “everyone loves me, some people just haven’t figured it out yet.”
I can’t force others to feel. Control, Shift, Alt, Delete, people don’t work like that. They aren’t preprogrammed with options and code. Made of ones and zeros, as if one could know the response others will give.
That’s why I know and now still know, we are called to pursue others desperately. There is more to effort than switching gears, and in this life sweat holds more value than tears. You have to try. That’s why we grew up cheering on the underdog because we see ourselves in them.
“Ahhhhh I bet you’re a rich kid. Aren’t you?”
“You look like a guy who has broken a lot of hearts.”
“You’re a lot less stuck up than I thought you would be.”
Without knowing others, often we force others into a frame without checking the canvas for scale. Try as we might, people always harbor unrealized expectations. No matter our opposition we live in a world that wants us to fall in line like reforested pine, it’s all straight rows where everything grows a little less wild and a little more humdrum ho-hum. We come from a mentality that rarely sees the horror in symmetry or the beauty in nonconformity. There is only so much we can say to change people because sometimes faith can’t put a dent in fact, all we have left is our actions. We must let them speak louder than words. Turn up the volume and let them boom, saying, “You have to be wrong.”
Acceptance often acts as a resident evicted from under the bed that’s chosen to claim Squatter’s Rights within the confines of our head. So, yes, I struggle with the thoughts others may have of me, but it’s not my job to care. Just to know, take hold, crumple, fold and let go.
Finally, I look up and allow myself the liberty of letting go. Before I can tell my emotions to stay I look up and say, “Of course, who doesn’t.”
