This is the second part in a three-part series. The previous post was titled Wear It Like Armor.
I spent so much of my early life isolated, bullied and suppressed that I had to develop self-dependency, and a strong sense of humor just to get by. By the time I moved out and discovered true peace at age 19, the experience had helped me forge a type of psychological armor – one that had been thoroughly field tested. Ultimately, whatever happened, I knew I would make it out just fine. That belief combined with my newfound peace eventually led to a surge of self-confidence. This wouldn’t happen all at once – it took time, but the trajectory was consistently positive.
I started expanding beyond what I knew. I had always dismissed things like Battlestar Galactica (it sounded so geeky) and Dungeons & Dragons (in my mind, its players wore elf ears and used weird voices). But as time passed, knowing that I only had myself to answer to, I eventually gave both a chance.
It was a colleague’s recommendation that led me to watch the 2004 series of Battlestar Galactica, which, to this day, remains one of my favorites. In fact, that show was a major reason why I had interest in first going to Dragon*Con (a convention similar to Comic Con), all for a chance to meet the actors in real life. As a side-effect, I saw what it was like to be surrounded by passionate cosplayers who had no qualms about being visibly themselves – a stark contrast to how I grew up, where standing out wasn’t doing me any favors. It was also at Dragon*Con where I took my interest in public speaking and acted on it – I would conduct interviews and improvise everything on the spot. This was tremendous for my personal growth, but I also especially loved that I was showing respect and bringing attention to the time, effort, and passion that went into the costumes people made.
Here’s a video that summarizes it:
(Incidentally, that interview was done by the mentor who literally said I had “no value” – the one I wrote about in The Suit Bag – but it was filmed a year before that incident.)
And then there was Dungeons & Dragons – when I actually tried playing with a group, I realized it was as dorky as the players want it to be – and my group wasn’t like that at all – no voices, no elf ears. With this exposure, I learned to better respect the Dungeons & Dragons brand, along with those passionate about it. In fact, there would be moments where I would outright tell people that I played and would recommend that they give it a shot, particularly if it seemed like the type of thing they’d be into. If they didn’t like that I was into these geeky things, if that was too much for them, that was perfectly fine – nobody had to like me.
This change in perspective would even find its way to how I approached dating. When I first approached online dating, conventional wisdom said that I should present my best face, so as to increase my chances of actually attracting someone. I did this ever so briefly, only to then reflect that it was merely a question of polarity – a property of magnetism – they would be either attracted by me, or repulsed by me, and either way, the conclusion would be exactly as it should be. I decided I would be better served by crafting my dating profiles so that they were a genuine reflection of my personality – even a slightly amplified version of exactly who I was. There would be no false advertising, no playing things down. I really displayed my unique sense of humor – like it or not, that was me.
Here’s an example:
The first things people usually notice about me
My height, which is sometimes intimidating to certain people. My passive facial expression also looks somewhat serious, which can be misleading. Despite appearances, I will probably never push anyone around. In fact, if skeptics are right about vegetarians, I’d probably be too weak for it. They’re wrong, though. I could probably last a few seconds against a grizzly bear.
In the same spirit, when I posted photos, I made damn sure that they were dated, including a month and a year, at least. I wanted things to be clear and transparent – no one should have to wonder if the photo was recent or not. And, though I found it a bit harsh, I even wrote that my weight was “obese” when the BMI scale told me that’s what I was at the time, given my height. I eventually brought this down to “overweight”, which I felt was closer to the reality – but in any case, they had plenty of recent photos from which to draw their own opinions. I would meet personal trainers later in life who would tell me that even they were considered overweight according to BMI, and thus, they suggested I don’t take its simplistic value too seriously.
The same filtering mechanism applied outside of dating. I stopped caring if my choices might seem unimpressive, or even odd to people. For example, when I started delivering food on my bicycle for Uber Eats, the idea of getting paid to exercise was unique enough that I had no hesitation in sharing it with people. Do you get paid to exercise? Does your therapist pay you? I also found it super interesting (intellectually) how the Uber Eats app worked and how they gamified things. It’s of no consequence to me that someone might think I’m having trouble with money, or something like that, as if I needed extra income enough to resort to something that paid so poorly. If they wanted to form that opinion, it was totally within their rights – they could be misinformed if they really wanted to be.
Despite my growth being largely suppressed until the age of 19, I had discovered absolute peace thereafter – which led me to become unapologetically me as a matter of principle. I would increasingly present the raw truth of who I was – this would serve as a natural filter – if people were repelled by my overall character, or attracted, or even indifferent – all of these outcomes would be totally OK.
This is the second part in a three-part series. The next post is titled Social Assassin.