Tracking Our Consistencies
It seems like babies and children grow up at lightning speed, their features and minds tangibly developing as rapidly as month to month and more subtlely from day to day. This makes sense, and I’ve taken enough developmental psychology courses to understand it. But I’ve always found these progressions startling. I became that relative at family gatherings who could barely recognize their younger cousin after not seeing them for a year (mind you, it’s important to note that I do not verbalize this shock, like your Aunt Mary who can’t possibly fathom that you’ve grown three inches and cut your hair into a bob). I realized I often imagine a person a certain way (likely most akin to how they appeared to me last) and upon seeing them in person I am forced to conflate the two images. It’s oddly unsettling. Not necessarily frightening, but rattling enough.
As a 12-year-old, I loved combing through my father’s ever well-organized photo archive on our family desktop computer. Seeing my young parents traveling the world during a time when I simply ceased to exist was always interesting to me (and a topic that can be addressed at a later point), but what I found even more intriguing were photographs taken of me as recently as a year prior. Upon looking at these images of 11-year-old me, I became increasingly uncomfortable with just how different I seemed to appear. I was starkly aware of the physical changes I had undergone. I hated it. Not because I hated how I looked, or even that these changes had occurred, but because I wasn’t able to track these progressions on my own. There I was again, attempting to combine the image that I had of myself with the one of this girl who seemed just a bit off. I had stared at this person in the mirror every single day and wasn’t able to catch a single one of these changes as they occurred in real-time. It frustrated and bestowed upon me an overwhelming feeling of lack of control.
It’s alarming how difficult it is for us to notice change both in ourselves and others when we are consistently primed with their presence. You would think the opposite would be true; that we would be able to pick up on these things, the subtle differences, the slow transformations, and the new fine lines and freckles when we encounter them 24/7. And sometimes we do notice them, but it always feels later than expected (I’m using “we” liberally here because I’m not entirely sure if this phenomenon is universal). I don’t see my parents aging right before my eyes despite seeing them almost everyday. I look in the mirror every morning and can identify the image staring back at me as myself. I know her. She looks familiar, and she always looks the same as she did yesterday. It isn’t until a year later when I look at an old picture of myself at some bar and think “gosh, I was just a baby.” It’s eerie that photographs track physical change better than my brain ever could.
This is all to say that I’ve spent a lot of time wondering what I’m missing besides the purely physical stuff. What is changing right under my nose? Not being able to track these alterations makes me worry that not only am I evolving, growing, and whatever other positive growth-mindset verb people use to describe the mid-20s life phase, but I am also perhaps losing parts of me along the way, small components slinking quietly away in the night, leaving slowly enough to not turn a single head.
I take pride in the fact that I remain generally consistent. I have a horrible memory and often have friends tell me that I have repeated the same thing to them twice, utilizing the same words, reflecting the same opinions. I like that I am formed as an entity in this way, not necessarily predictable, but just encompassing certain tendencies that we all possess in our own personalities. I like that these consistencies are often reflected in some form of my independence or brazenness. I like to hold my ground. My father used to tell me that I am both kind and warm, yet also pointed and stern at times. I have always viewed this description as a compliment. I have thick skin because I grew up with older brothers. I used to hate when adults would talk down to me when I was a kid. I have had men on first dates tell me that they find me intimidating, and to be honest, I have never really minded it when they would say this. These are the consistencies that I think I would like to keep and hold onto.
I recently caught myself attempting to dim down my bluntness (if that’s what you would call it) during my usual over-analyzed conversations, shifting my inclinations to a permanent perfect smile on my face, only relaxed when my cheeks began to twitch. This was an act I began putting on when someone recently told me that they thought I was a bit unapproachable. I think they meant it as some weird indirect compliment but I had subliminally certainly not taken it that way and began altering my behavior accordingly. As time went on however, I noticed the benefits of adopting a slightly warmer approach and allowed the over-the-top sarcastic part of me to take a backseat during interactions. Discussions became more sincere and open; I began to enjoy peoples’ presences in different ways. Words that flowed between me and my company felt more direct and no-nonsense. There was no veiled dance. Now I find that the chirping usually only comes out to play when with someone that I have an established high comfort level.
I don’t want to make a weird conscious decision, however, to keep or release parts of my personality. It feels like even acknowledging it as an option goes against some natural occurrence. If certain characteristics of ourselves are meant to be left behind, perhaps in part because of how our environments sway us in various directions (in most simple terms), then maybe that’s just how it’s supposed to be. But I do like these things about myself. The bluntness, the sarcastic coping mechanisms, the not smiling unless I want to; or at least enough to worry about losing them.
The reason why I’m stuck on all of this probably goes back to some innate desire to be a good person. I suppose it’s a matter of wanting to be authentic, and well-intended. Something doesn’t sit right with me when I purposefully change my instinctual reactions. It feels as though I’m betraying my true intent, forming myself into whoever I want to be at any given moment in time.
There is something to be said, however, about placing too much weight on remaining a consistent individual. Growing is good, as they say! This may not be something that one (I) need overthink. But, for the sake of argument, and to extend this rambling thing a beat longer, is losing positive attributes a sign of growth? Certainly it’s a sign of change, although I’m not entirely sure if change has the same implied positive air about it that “growth” does. And once we start noting aspects of our personality, becoming hyper-aware of the cause and effects of its elements and perhaps leading to a conscious shift, are we going against some course of nature? Is it superficial, or even manipulative? Are we altering how others view us, their perception of us slowly shifting as we age? I’m now overly tracking in real-time, for better or for worse, determined to do better than any camera could to ensure my consistencies stay intact.