bird

It was always easy. I could create a personality depending on those around me. I could switch between them as easily as trading masks. For some I listened to country music, others heard hard rock. Sometimes I was obsessed with female conquest; other times I barely even mentioned girls. With some people I watched dramatic films with various plot lines and strong characters; with others I sat through shallow romantic comedies.

Some girlfriends saw an adoring puppy, more saw an emotionally-distant asshole. Friends could see an opinionated smart ass or an apolitical moron, ignorant of current events. Different facets were emphasized with different friends. All the sides were there, all the time, but depending on the environment, some were polished and some were rough, chipped, or unfinished. I used to spend days in relative solitude, taking the time to reorganize, reconnect with, and process everything going on around me. I found relief in the quiet, in not having to impress or perform. I don’t do that now.

I used to spend time with people I felt superior to. People that were more socially awkward, dumber, less interesting, uglier, more naive, or less mature. Now I take time with those that tend to expand my horizons, challenge me, or make me think. Things are more engaging and satisfying. My tastes have changed.

I found sets of friends that I feel comfortable around. I don’t feel as strained. Most are interested in the same things or add to conversations about topics I enjoy discussing. Around them, I can follow insight with stupidity. I don’t have to dumb things down or talk above me. They are entertaining. I’ve tried to form closer friendships, but can’t tell if they’re getting to know me or one of the acts I’ve been putting on for so long.

My sarcasm is more insulting. I care less about being offensive and more about myself. It’s become harder to let people in. I talk too much and say almost nothing. It’s hard to see through the fog of stupidity, lack of forethought, and disrespect. I’m always tired. I distance myself from most everything. I close off and push things back toward superficial when I feel uncomfortable. I work with people I don’t like, live with people I don’t really know, and hang out with some people I don’t necessarily want to hang out with. I have opinions about things I don’t care about. I make loud absurd comments about things that don’t effect me.

I don’t spend as much time by myself; sometimes I’m afraid to. I’ve become lost in the different sides if a personality that I can’t be sure is mine. Am I doing what I should be doing? Am I with the people I should be with? Am I paying attention to things that are important or just things that are popular? Am I really listening? Is everything as hopeless I make it seem? Why is it so much easier to talk about things that don’t matter? Why is it so much harder to do things I should be doing than things I don’t care about? Am I geographically where I want to be?

For almost two miles, the gray Buick has been behind me in the left lane, just far enough back that I can’t comfortably switch lanes in front of it. It had been going a few miles faster than I, but slowed down to my speed, staying between six and ten feet off my left bumper. I’m gaining on a red Jeep, and quickly. My first reaction is to yell at the driver to my left. To call him any number of derogatory names he can’t hear, make loud gestures he can’t see, and make a scene within the confines of my own car for my own benefit.

Maybe he’s having a distracting conversation with his passenger. Maybe he’s not using cruise control because of traffic further behind. Maybe he’s just another member of the vast majority of motorists, driving with impressive inattentiveness. Maybe he’s a gigantic asshole, with few friends and a child that hates him. Maybe he just came out of a pack of particularly inconsiderate drivers and is in a horrible mood. My yelling or gesturing for him to pass would do nothing but annoy my passengers.

I speed up slightly, signal, and cut in front of him, knowing the space is too tight. He slows down, then speeds up in order to tailgate, and flicks me off for a full thirty seconds. I pass the Jeep, pull back to the right lane, and watch him emphatically pass on my left. Along side me, he slows, but I can’t see him, only his passenger gesturing for him to calm down and trying not to glance my direction. He passes and is quickly far ahead of me. Then I can’t see him at all.

Why was my first urge so hostile? I don’t care either way. I’m not in a hurry and the change in position wouldn’t alter my arrival time significantly, if at all. I look into the back seat, where one passenger is sleeping, by appearances, uncomfortably, then over to my other passenger, going through what looks like receipts and in her own world of organization. I doubt they were paying attention to the jerk passing me.

They won’t sympathize or pet my ego with comments of how big an asshole he was or how smartly I handled the situation. The conversation will quickly shift to something less or more pressing and the whole thing forgotten. They don’t care that for less than five miles out of three hundred fifty, I was dealing with a douchebag. I don’t need them to. I don’t think.