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May 30, 2007
Who am I?
As I sit here typing, my guts are writhing with anxiety. Having just looked at my previous posts, I realize I haven't written a single thing about myself — really about myself — since at least last September. I gave up keeping a diary, if that's what this is, not out of laziness but out of fear that the deep, all encompassing depression (seemingly always lurking just around the corner) would return. In order to get on with my life, I felt I had to run away from my life.

That isn't all bad. I've probably done more genuine internal self-reflection over the past year than I have in most of the other years combined. In retreating, finally, to a sort of safety zone after two years of turmoil and upheaval, I have instinctually regained both some of my self-confidence and some of my arrogance. I think a certain measure of both is necessary to get anywhere in this world. At the same time, that arrogance — that awkward assumption that everything around me is humorous because I am above it — is not only inherently isolating but a dangerously convenient cover. By convincing myself that I am above everything around me, by quietly undermining everything I see around me and searching out the contradictions, I'm telling myself, "It's okay that you're alone."

The real reason, when I force myself to face it, is that I am terrified that I don't measure up to anyone or anything. It is that terror — and my own seeming inability to face it squarely — that leads me to be so awkward in the company of those whose continued confidence (or at least patience) is already guaranteed.

I have allowed myself to be neither a leader nor a follower, because both in some form or another require participation in a greater community than my person. I suspect that my ambivalence towards sex comes from the same self-imposed restriction.

Which isn't to say that I can't be social, clever, funny or intelligent. It is to say that I instinctually aim my cleverness, humor and intellect at pushing people away. Asking someone out to lunch (or accepting an invitation to a party) is thus a proposition many times more daunting than addressing an entire stadium of people. Crowds are impersonal; meals and parties are inherently deeply personal.

If I did the math, I could probably count on one hand the number of people who would really stick themselves out there for me. It is not a happy thought, but it is a just one; I could probably count on one hand the number of people I would really stick myself out there for. I am a deeply passionate person, but not really towards any external end. The passion, ultimately, goes nowhere.

These are things that I needed to say to myself. I had conceived of my many blogs as a mechanism from which to connect to others. Before I can connect with others, I have to connect with myself. There is no conversation if one side has nothing to say.
  posted by Adam at 02:47 | 0 comments

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Adam
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