Lately a few people have been pointing out my mannerisms to me and I love it. I guess I should be astonished, or afraid even, that I don't know myself that well, but I'm not really paying attention. My mind wanders easily, and my imagination takes over. That sounds like something someone would say about a five year old. I don't mind. If I can be as carefree as a child, I've attained a victory, however subconscious it is.
Speaking of my subconscious, there must be a lot going on in there. Wherever it is. Or whatever. Not too sure. Either way, the idea I have of myself and the idea other people have of me don't seem to line up. I'm often lost in thought, and in doing so I scrunch up my face like I'm trying to strengthen my forehead muscles. I'm just as often lost in song, and I routinely get caught singing some eclectic tune that has been jailed in my skull, or some song I made up entirely while drifting off. When I catch myself I imagine someone else seeing me. How strange he is, they must think, to be staring so decidedly at nothing at all. How angry he is, they must think, glaring at everyone around him.
That line of thought recently got turned on its head due to the state of the world, now that we are all wearing masks. Walking into the break room at work I was greeted by a coworker who told me they don't like me wearing a mask. They can't see my smile. I was taken aback. I flat out asked what they meant. They told me that I was always smiling, and they found it pleasant, and now the mask hides it.
My shock was immeasurable. I don't remember smiling. Perhaps they were wrong. But what kind of person would lie about something like that? How kind of them to say such a thing to me at all. A wonderful moment, indeed. It changed how I saw myself. I was so happy to be a person that they saw was smiling all the time. I have never cared about wearing a mask for health reasons, but suddenly I wanted to never wear one again.
Once I started to have my mannerisms pointed out to me I started to notice some myself. Looking at old pictures and sometimes videos, I would pick out my own mannerisms. A video of me watching my dog spotlights how I hold my hands and my arms when I am stationary. I fiddle with my hands when they are by my sides. My hands reach up and rest themselves on my neck, in the crook of my elbow. It felt almost foreign to be watching myself from an analytical point of view. It also made me feel like these involuntary actions were my personality manifesting itself through my body. Where many people may feel strong-armed by the idea of fate, destiny, of being a vessel, I was reinvigorated by my own quirks, steadfast in my love for myself. What an odd creature I am.
This was many years ago I began to write this story. Back when I worked in a job with a break room and having to wear a mask. In a stroke of coincidence, I have had another feature of mine communicated to me quite recently. At a restaurant, the people across from me told me I had nice eyes. How lucky for me. Something I have no control over, something I use exclusively for perceiving my world, people like to look at. When I was younger, and susceptible to negative influence, my eyes were a point of derision. Quite large and alien, back then. My love for myself grows once again with the help of the people around me. They took a moment to say a nice thing, and now I feel it in my head and in my heart.
Can you see the disconnect? I had wondered how I looked to the people around me. Feeling strange as a being. My habits look foreign, quizzical, deviating, unfamiliar. Perhaps even contentious, bothersome. My mind told me this before any person did. Still I took pleasure in being the way I am, in spite of the potential perception. Concrete evidence was then presented and now I can take pleasure in the way I am, but from a different place, a better place, a more wholesome place. Does the source of my inspiration make a difference? Very much so. Living for spite, with spite, in a constant state of animosity with suspicion will take you down a path of acrimony. Perhaps not full of malice, but
inspired by a rancorous gusto. There is a peace that washes over you when your internal accusations are trimmed up. A turbulence that I did actively notice was pacified. How harmonious life can be when you are not fighting false diffidence. A boon of arrogance washed over me due to not a kind word, but an honest one. The nullification of doubt, of uncertainty. Mental strife, inner turmoil: a revealing affirmation, much like a lifting fog.
I am reminded of my forgetfulness often. Nothing of major import, but noticeable to myself. Being told my mannerisms lingers eternal, an adamant yet unconscious reminder that I wage no war, I need not live in the shadow of hostility. My courage is impetuous, my certainty is impregnable, my style is convivial. Thank you for letting me know.
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