Mail tfurrows [at] sdf.org
Shakespeare said that "all the world's a stage, and all the men and women merely players; they have their exits and their entrances, and one man in his time plays many parts..."
At the risk of sounding boastful, I need to avow that I'm a very fine actor. Well, at least on the stage of life. My beliefs and views, coupled with my existence in civil society, require that I be exceptional at playing parts. No, they don't simply require it of me, they force it out of me. I am force, coerced, constrained, to be a model citizen for the benefit of all those around me.
It's bad enough to be forced to play a part, but you'll note that I specifically said that I must play "parts." One part is one thing, but life and society don't demand that one simple part be played. Instead, the stage of life requires that I be all things, to all people. I must adjust myself, chameleon like, to the situation or the person.
This of course is only true in the framework of "civil society." That is to say, if I wanted to be wholly and entirely myself, I could certainly do so outside the boundaries of civil society. If friends, family, career, and many other things didn't matter at all, if I was willing to do without them; then yes, I could probably abandon my personas.
I said earlier that I'm a fine actor, and I was serious. I feel as if I am among the best actors in the world. I play my parts extremely well, so much so that I doubt any person (outside of a few whom I trust to be myself with) understands my thoughts and feelings on a wide range of subjects. Maybe it's my own fault, but I feel like my reality would have a caustic, upsetting effect on many who I have to deal with. And so I spare them, by putting on an elaborate and undetectable show.
"But," you say, "you expose yourself here on this public blog!" The whole world can find out who tfurrows is, with almost no effort. And so the illusion is lost, the jig is up, the farce is finished. All in an effort to accomplish a bit of therapeutic writing on an "off day" (i.e. a depressed day.)
Thankfully, most of the people who I would have cause to perform for (as a caged animal performs) don't have the slightest interest in reading random blogs, nor would they put forth the trivial effort to find out if "tfurrows" is someone they know. And even then, would they really be so curious as to inquire further what my act consists of? Perhaps, for them, the stage tfurrows is quite satisfactory. Perhaps a real tfurrows would be undesireable.
And so, though the performance is tiring, I'll probably continue it. Because not performing would mean facing the reality of how the world accepts or doesn't accept me. I'm not sure I'm ready for that.
