On staying true to one’s self amid jeers and doubt.
Do you know why you write or do any of the creative things you do? I write, or paste cutout images, or decorate, or make a Halloween costume, or shoot a music video, or put on a skit, or snap pictures on my phone because I can’t help it. Constructing a story or visual narrative that wouldn’t have existed without me giving it form feeds and fills me. I would be lost, a sleepwalker, a 24/7 depressive without this drive. It’s offensive to me to be called a failed actress, not because of the “failed” part, but because someone else is presuming what success means to me.
In their eyes, I’ve failed at acting because it hasn’t brought me fame or riches or even consistent work. But I act because emotionally it feeds and fills me, and will continue to do so until I die. So in fact, I will be a lifelong actor.
You can see why it’s difficult to call myself “a failure” over a conscious, lifelong choice.
Don’t worry, only family members and people closest to you are heartless enough to tell you all the things they believe you’re bad at, and it doesn’t sting as much as you’d think because weirdly, those people understand parts of you less than a person who meets you once for five minutes.
I can’t be hurt — not too deeply, anyway — by being considered a failed anything because I don’t feel failed. I feel like a person who does what she wants.
What’s exhausting is having at times only yourself and your self-esteem to prop you up. People are very quick to say “you’re special” as long as they don’t think you believe it. Just try letting someone know you think you’re special and contempt will rise from their face like the stink of garbage. We don’t get to think good things about ourselves and say them out loud, and it’s not because society values the oh-so noble trait of humility. It’s because we’re supposed to act as insecure and downtrodden and put upon as most of the world feels.
You cannot be a content human being with nothing to show for it but the fact of your existence. Not without being resented or ridiculed. It can wear you down.
Don’t let it.
Happier, more accomplished people keep telling us, “Believe in yourself.” And they mean it. We can see it on their faces. Their eyes tell us how long they’ve spent propping themselves up with only their self-esteem because no one else would. Watch their eyes in a few weeks as they clutch an Oscar and tell you to believe in yourself.
Listen to them. It doesn’t just apply to those in the film industry.
You might be wondering where all this is coming from. It’s coming from plugging away and doing things my way, being loved by some and hated by others, and pleasing some even as I raise the ire of others. It’s fucking exhausting. And the worst? It’s apathy of course, because talking of being “loved” and “hated” implies the involvement of masses, which is hardly the case. Just the same, I’m exhausted. A handful of flies at your table is peskier than a herd of elephants in the distance.
I write. Writing is my child, my therapy, my trophy, my sustenance. If I’m hurt, I will write. If I’m elated, I will write. If I need to work out something, I will write.
When writing publicly, I’m conscientious, open and loyal to my truth. These notions conflict with one another more often than not. In my essays, I carefully weigh each sentence, comb through every word again and again, until I have the right balance of universal objectivity next to my subjective experience.
Am I inadvertently identifying anyone I shouldn’t? Am I unnecessarily hurting someone? If someone has hurt me, am I merely airing out my side because I have to, without speaking to larger issues that could affect others in a positive way? Am I presenting my case in an unfair and dishonorable way?
Until I answer an unwavering “no” to every one of those questions, I do not ever press “publish.”
Everyone always thinks you’re writing about them. They’re probably right. But as far as my writing is concerned, they should know it will have gone through my rigorous sifting to insure its honor, honesty and lack of harm. Naturally, this does not include holding myself accountable for the fragility of egos.
This past year, I received my first and so far, only, hate mail. Someone I’ve never met told me to go fuck myself, and all I kept thinking was, there, I hope you feel better now, even though I had no clue why they were angry.
One more thing.
As a person of substance, I still allow a considerable space for frivolity in my life. Not only am I unashamed of my chosen frivolities, I greatly enjoy them.
“You take a lot of selfies.”
“You post too many couple’s pictures.”
“You write about yourself too much.”
First of all, no, I don’t.
I take enough selfies, post enough couple’s pictures. And there is no such thing as writing too much about one’s self until one is done with whatever exploration and/or communion one seeks. Most certainly, it is never up to anyone else to decide for another person what’s “too much.” The only thing that’s up to someone else is “changing the channel” when something doesn’t suit them.
On the other hand, I welcome intelligent critiques. I solicit them when it comes to work I produce for public consumption because I’m always looking to improve. But I’m pretty sure I’ve never asked anyone’s opinion on the number and types of photos I share on social media, since it’s my photo album, so to speak, and meant to be presented how I see fit.
Those who say you’re vain — because you like your face enough to display it regularly — might want to consider that they show a different kind of vanity when keeping their feed conspicuously devoid of any images of themselves. People who are genuinely not caught up in their looks don’t give a shit — or even notice — how fascinated others might be by their own faces.
I’m guilty of hiding people’s feeds only when their posts become repetitive — not by “too many,” but by “too similar.” I don’t judge or berate them for it; I just change the channel.
The following four are the only social media users I recall ever blocking (not to be confused with “hiding” or “muting,” which I do regularly for the sake of my sanity):
One unfortunate ex; one guy who insisted on qualifying my “ass” to me a second and third time after I made it clear I considered it inappropriate; a second guy, a stranger this time, who returned my lost purse to me but then messaged about hooking up because he thought I had “nice teeth and a great ass”; some Twitter guy who got rude and raunchy after years of sending me jazz videos.
(A note about my ass: it’s normal; unextraordinary. What’s extraordinary is that I ran into more than one ass-obsessed guy who insisted on referring to mine even after I pointedly instructed him not to.)
In almost a decade’s worth of social media usage, I felt pushed too far by only four individuals. There are people with horrifying political views still showing up on my feed simply because I don’t censor opinions differing from mine.
The point is, I try not to waste my time worrying about how others use social media or what personal details they choose to share: I look or don’t look. That’s all.
As an interested human being, I like seeing faces, children, spouses, pets, gardens, books, locales, homes, weather conditions, airplane wings, your new hair color and so on. Even while I personally don’t understand the need to post pictures of ordinary meals, the great-looking gourmet affair you just put together actually makes my mouth water. So let me thank you for sharing your life’s scrapbook and taking care to present your thoughts and images exactly how you choose. You provide me with endless entertainment and I hope to do the same for you.
Finally, it’s easy to take to a blog or social media to air out thoughts and opinions like I’ve done here. As someone capable of the full spectrum of human emotions, I experience a range of non-productive ones like anger and outrage just like everyone else. Fortunately, it’s important to me to conduct myself with grace. I also know the difference between spiteful vitriol and critical commentary. As a brave person, I don’t avoid necessary confrontation and at times feel it’s my duty to call out unjust or bad behavior — even when that bad behavior is my own. So it’s with great pride that in review of 2016, I stand by every single word I felt the need to say publicly.
The best men and women work to show the same face in public as they do in private. In some, the gap is wider than in others. May we and our friends be those with the smallest of gaps between our public and private personae.
Follow Gunmetal Geisha
I invite you to check out:
- My new article on Harper’s Bazaar: WHY I DON’T WANT TO MARRY THE MAN I LOVE
- My most read blog post from last year: LOYALTY DOES NOT EQUAL BLINDNESS
- A grand scheme to reunite with an old friend in a secret garden: ON ROMANCE, GARDENS AND PRIDE
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