A friend of mine likes to share the familiar saying – what doesn’t kill you only makes you stronger. I like to follow that up with “yeah, or leaves you scarred and horribly disfigured.” but that is just me. It’s a cliche, the whatever doesn’t kill you saying. Things become cliche for a reason. Usually because of their proximity to a truth.
Today I went to my second ever office holiday party. The first holiday party where I wasn’t deeply wishing there were some sort of spirits to provide some social lubrication – or to at least quiet some of the voices in my head – the voices that are in charge of reminding me that there is so much work to do and so little time to do it and what am I doing at a “party” when I should be writing papers. Like I would confess to the other voices here. Whenever I go to a social event like this, I’m always worried that somebody is going to ask me about myself. A person doesn’t have to ask very many questions before the answers start to get very awkward. And I’m not even talking about specific questions. General questions lead to very strange places in my life.
In the past I’ve been evasive, too truthful, played dumb, just plain lied, and changed the topic when the subject was me. I can be subtle at this or very obvious. But the reality is, I like the people I work with now. They are good people. And I don’t want to put myself in a position where I have to maintain an overly complicated story. For instance, when somebody asks me how I know how to do this or that or the other, I don’t want to have to try to remember how much of my story I’ve told them – or worse, which of my stories I’ve told them.
So every time I prepare to go to a social event I plan out exactly how much of my story I will tell. Just in case. Sometimes I don’t need it, but more often than not I’m the new person, and the new person is responsible for providing new stories. This morning, on the way to the holiday party, I prepared my story. I didn’t need it, thank goodness. I’m much happier right now being in the background. I don’t think things will always be this way. I know they won’t. But for now I don’t put my name on anything. I claim no credit, no responsibility, no accolades. I do my best to be solidly in the margin.
The story I prepared this time is different than all of the other stories I’ve told. Not in content, because the events are what they are. But it is different in perspective. It is not a victim story – I’ve way outgrown that phase. Besides, still playing the prey when you’ve actually become the predator is difficult to convincingly pull off. Nor is it still the “I’m responsible for everything” story. I think I’ve finally accepted that there have been a lot of things in my life that I simply had no control over. These are things that even stunted my range of reaction. I did what I could with what I had. It might have taken me longer, and I might have done it the hard way, but really, I didn’t have a lot else to work with.
This new story is that my life right now is the results of a combination of my choices and my luck. And neither have been all that great. At the same time, I’m starting to understand why people come to me when they are trying to figure something out or when they need additional information or a new perspective. A lot of that has to do with my bad choices and my bad luck – because that is what taught me the most. Which gives me a new perspective about my choices and luck. I have been cursing both – I feel like I should be established by now. But the chances are very good that I’ll never be established – at least not in the way I think I should be. And maybe I should learn to be OK with that.
In the break room today I was asking questions about what triggered ground cover requirements for recently cleared land. Yeah, I’m a real ball of fun. Anyway one of the people I was talking to inquired why I was asking. I told him about the abandoned houses that have recently been demolished in my neighborhood and how the lots are now sitting open and bare at the start of the rainy season, and how I was hoping they wouldn’t turn into huge muddy messes. Of course they will, but I’m still stuck on a time in my life when the ground froze during winter, so don’ t hold my optimism against me. The person who asked me why sat for a minute after I explained the bulldozed houses and then he asked me where I lived. I gave him my neighborhood and he stared laughing. “You take the whole living the adventure thing all the way home, eh?” And I smiled. “I like to be consistent.” Which is a total lie, but it sounded witty in the moment.
I’m getting closer to the truth about myself. The more I’m around other people, the more I talk to them and listen to them and think about them the more I understand my choices and my luck and my role in my own life. I’m unusual, an outlier even. But I’m not the only one. Which is helping me to understand that while I’m sure I am deeply scarred and grossly disfigured, I’m also much stronger than I give myself credit for. Turns out, all those bad bits didn’t kill me after all.
I know. I’m as surprised as you are.
SecondHand Saint 