I've always been a person of few friends, partly, I suppose, because of various insecurities, and partly because I prefer utter genuineness, which tends to narrow down the crop a little. In general, these friends are the only people I can feel truly myself around. However, because having such a small circle can cause murkiness at times, and for reasons I won't even attempt to understand or explain here, sometimes I don't even feel myself around my friends/family. This manifests itself in me shutting out or getting angry at the people I'm closest to, what some people who've known me for a long time might term moodiness. To me, it feels a little less simple.
Sometimes when I'm struck by such moodiness, strangers are the only people I'd like to keep company with. In these moods, I get a tremendous high knocking on the attractive neighbor's door to borrow a cup of milk for a nonexistent cake, or seeing if I can get the guitar player at a coffee shop open mic to come hang out with me after, or having a fulfilling conversation with the woman sitting next to me on a plane. It's at these times that my identity suddenly becomes clear to me, possibly because it's easier to see what distinguishes me from a completely new person than a person tangled up in my memories/experiences/so forth. Or, it could be that the identity I feel in these situations isn't my true identity at all, but one created for their benefit which highlights my most vibrant qualities and conveniently omits my various neuroses, painting a simple picture that's nice to look at and tempting to identify with. Maybe it's not even that at all (I tend to be cynical about human nature). Maybe it's just the pleasure of seeing yourself through a stranger's eyes, which limits you to a few labels you're hopefully proud of or at least OK with. I know after a year of hating the world and having very few friends, I became an expert at imagining how strangers saw me, and the only way to stay sane was putting my qualities in a positive light (for example, standoffish = mysterious).
I'm reminded of something I read about stages of development when I was very young, I believe in one of my mom or dad's college psychology books, that said if you don't successfully battle the crisis in each stage, you'll have some sort of fixation or mental problem in later stages. Being only about 11 or 12, I remember having such fear of the approaching stages, being overwhelmed at suddenly finding out how narrow the passage to successful adulthood was. Looking back now, I'm not sure that fear was unfounded. Now that I'm googling it, I think it must've been Erikson's psychosocial development theory. I find Stages 5, Identity vs. Confusion, and 6, Intimacy vs. Isolation, most interesting.
Here's what about.com has to say about Stage 5, the stage generally occurring in adolescence in which the individual develops a sense of self by experimenting with relating to others:
"Those who receive proper encouragement and reinforcement through personal exploration will emerge from this stage with a strong sense of self and a feeling of independence and control. Those who remain unsure of their beliefs and desires will be insecure and confused about themselves and the future."
And Stage 6, occurring in early adulthood and dealing with forming close interpersonal relationships:
"Remember that each step builds on skills learned in previous steps. Erikson believed that a strong sense of personal identity was important to developing intimate relationships. Studies have demonstrated that those with a poor sense of self tend to have less committed relationships and are more likely to suffer emotional isolation, loneliness, and depression."
So, if I'm going to take Erikson's stages at face value and say that they accurately describe the successful development of a person, how exactly does one tell if they've successfully navigated a crisis? I think it's somewhat of a consensus that middle school/high school sucks for everyone at some point. Have you succeeded at Stage 5 only if you've developed a striking enough identity, whether it's goth, brain, athlete or what have you? Or does that fall into stereotyping which we're taught to avoid? Have you failed if you continue to have anxiety about getting into school, obtaining a job, or meeting new people? How much insecurity is allowed? It makes me think of beating a boss in Zelda--how many hearts are you allowed to lose in battle and survive? And can you fill up on life force later, in a time of tranquility?
What about.com has to say about Stage 6 (reliable source, I know) indicates you may not be able to simply pay a visit to the healing fairy and be instantly ready to tackle the rest of life. Pardon my Nintendo references, please. Personally, my adolescence wasn't particularly rosy, but I don't know if I'd put it outside the range of what's normal. Still, I suffered something of a personal crisis freshman year of college that has greatly shaped who I am now and how I form personal relationships (reeks of Stage 6). To get over it, I had to work to shift my focus away from constantly evaluating myself and towards other people. It's a little more complex than that I had to shift the blame for awkward social situations on other people to spare my sanity, but that's a rough summary of what it was. Still, I'd consider myself a hypochondriac if I just said, OH, I failed at Stage 5 and that must be the root of every one of my problems. How many people actually steer through these stages in a way that Erikson would consider successful? Doesn't everyone have some sort of hangup from when they were younger, some weakness from adolescence that haunts well into mid-life?
Or maybe I AM extremely strange and I want to hold on to/justify my identity issues because I think there's something romantic about the amorphousness of my being.
Maybe it's not an issue of how strange at all, but an issue of how sad it is that potentially everyone fails the stages in some way. I sort of believe that Erikson came up with his theory not from coming across successful cases, but by observing the things that cause everyone agony and giving them a name as well as a theoretical situation where they didn't exist. Giving a name to something and recognizing a problem always makes it easier to deal with, after all, the same way giving yourself a couple of labels can make your identity much more distinct. Maybe that's just the psychoanalyst in me. I'm not sure the romantic literary musician in me would want to let go of the idea that I'm suffering alone and no one else could possibly understand. Maybe I should just go with the quiet, standoffish me and not waste any more words on this topic.
I Owe You Nothing
4 hours ago
