And as a kid. I was really really naive. I mean that's not a shocking revelation. There is plenty I am naive about to this day. I learn that every day. As a child I was naive. Especially about secret identities. I had no idea that they are the rule rather than the exception.
Even as a child, bathed in my ignorance, I wore masks. I hid part of myself. Like a movie that other kids think is for babies - never mention the Care Bear stare ever again. Have no idea what that slang word use that somebody used - nod and smile and never admit it. Frustrated because you're having trouble with multiplying fractions - immediately pretend you don't care about math and it's not cool. A hundred masks, a thousand feints, an entire wall of smoke concealing real things about me. My secret identity.
What is the greatest difference between secret identities in comics and the ones we create in real life? Secret Identities in comics are usually pretty awesome. Playboy philanthropist. Award winning reporter. Single duck dad. Wait. Scratch that last one. Who wouldn't want to be Clark Kent or Bruce Wayne? Those lives looked pretty damn good. Enviable even.
In reality, what we hide are the things we are ashamed of. The things that we are embarrassed of. The things that make us afraid or weak or vulnerable. We don't hide our ability to fly or our nights as a rooftop vigilante. We hide the things we don't want anyone to see. The stuff. Baggage. Issues. Flaws. Dirt. Pain.
It's not a ground breaking statement. Duh. Dude. Everyone has their stuff. It's life.
By my nature, I analyze things. I overthink. I obsess and dwell. I ruminate and ponder. I am at times the definition of paralysis by analysis. Especially when I let the mask slip. When the baggage is left spinning slowly and obviously on the carousel for the whole world to see. Sometimes life opens the phone booth before Superman can get the spandex completely on. And people see us without the costume or the mask. And it sucks.
I judge myself so hard when I slip. When a surprise brings on anxiety and panic and I just don't deal with it well. The paralysis/analysis cycle begins to spin like a dreidel on crank. It is out of control and no one is going to have a good time. (Paralysis/Analysis will be the name of my emo cover band)
When I am honest, I judge others when I see a slip too. A harsh word. A bad day. A grumpy response. A sarcastic self indulgent comment. I see their slip and I too often judge. Sometimes I can realize that everyone has their stuff and that's ok. Other times I slip up and don't cut people any slack.
I slipped recently. Let some pain out. Let a surprise lead to anxiety and panic and then disappearance. And ever since I've judged myself way too harshly. I've mentally replayed the moment over and over with little point or result. It's pointless. This dreidel is tired.
We all slip. The secret identity eventually gets out. It always happens. We fail. We miss. We hurt.
It's part of being human. So is the secret identity. It's all part of the big contradiction that is being alive and trying to live.
I need to give myself some slack when I slip. You need to give yourself some slack. And we all need to give each other a hell of a lot more slack.
We're all struggling. We are all fighting. And we all lose little battles every day. It's become common to point out when someone slips. To blast it all over the internet. To gossip. To laugh. To highlight the failures and dance on the graves of anyone and everyone.
We've all got our secrets and our pain.
I'll let you keep your secret identity. You let me keep mine.
Maybe then we can fight together when the really big bad stuff comes.
Even as a child, bathed in my ignorance, I wore masks. I hid part of myself. Like a movie that other kids think is for babies - never mention the Care Bear stare ever again. Have no idea what that slang word use that somebody used - nod and smile and never admit it. Frustrated because you're having trouble with multiplying fractions - immediately pretend you don't care about math and it's not cool. A hundred masks, a thousand feints, an entire wall of smoke concealing real things about me. My secret identity.
What is the greatest difference between secret identities in comics and the ones we create in real life? Secret Identities in comics are usually pretty awesome. Playboy philanthropist. Award winning reporter. Single duck dad. Wait. Scratch that last one. Who wouldn't want to be Clark Kent or Bruce Wayne? Those lives looked pretty damn good. Enviable even.
In reality, what we hide are the things we are ashamed of. The things that we are embarrassed of. The things that make us afraid or weak or vulnerable. We don't hide our ability to fly or our nights as a rooftop vigilante. We hide the things we don't want anyone to see. The stuff. Baggage. Issues. Flaws. Dirt. Pain.
It's not a ground breaking statement. Duh. Dude. Everyone has their stuff. It's life.
By my nature, I analyze things. I overthink. I obsess and dwell. I ruminate and ponder. I am at times the definition of paralysis by analysis. Especially when I let the mask slip. When the baggage is left spinning slowly and obviously on the carousel for the whole world to see. Sometimes life opens the phone booth before Superman can get the spandex completely on. And people see us without the costume or the mask. And it sucks.
I judge myself so hard when I slip. When a surprise brings on anxiety and panic and I just don't deal with it well. The paralysis/analysis cycle begins to spin like a dreidel on crank. It is out of control and no one is going to have a good time. (Paralysis/Analysis will be the name of my emo cover band)
When I am honest, I judge others when I see a slip too. A harsh word. A bad day. A grumpy response. A sarcastic self indulgent comment. I see their slip and I too often judge. Sometimes I can realize that everyone has their stuff and that's ok. Other times I slip up and don't cut people any slack.
I slipped recently. Let some pain out. Let a surprise lead to anxiety and panic and then disappearance. And ever since I've judged myself way too harshly. I've mentally replayed the moment over and over with little point or result. It's pointless. This dreidel is tired.
We all slip. The secret identity eventually gets out. It always happens. We fail. We miss. We hurt.
It's part of being human. So is the secret identity. It's all part of the big contradiction that is being alive and trying to live.
I need to give myself some slack when I slip. You need to give yourself some slack. And we all need to give each other a hell of a lot more slack.
We're all struggling. We are all fighting. And we all lose little battles every day. It's become common to point out when someone slips. To blast it all over the internet. To gossip. To laugh. To highlight the failures and dance on the graves of anyone and everyone.
We've all got our secrets and our pain.
I'll let you keep your secret identity. You let me keep mine.
Maybe then we can fight together when the really big bad stuff comes.
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