“i will not make any more boring identity”

i was sitting alone today, polling against my usual bank of thoughts and memories, trying to find ways to convey my sunday interests, and on this day of the lord, i ran through distinct memories of putting on my best church face and how many i used to convince of the sincerity of my nature and cause, realistically not having any idea who i was, why i was there, or what i was doing. i came across this overwhelming concept of multiplex personalities and the disorderly cabinet we keep with each of our identities. that on any given day, the you that i meet could be just another file waiting to be put away. that most often, the i that you met then has already been filed and put away.

i think it’s beautiful, in a way. i think that every new identity that we mock up and display still holds a piece of the previous, and that we carry this kind of calling card with us at all times and that maybe in an intimate reality, that is our identity.

i struggle conceptualizing the necessity of sorting through identity trauma and the false-self ideology — ultimately it is the truest selfish act. yet, we can’t really learn how to be selfless without first learning the self well. so, necessary, then.

lately, i find excess personality and disparity. we live in a grossly supersaturated era between recess and access, and we’ve forgotten how to maintain a private identity. so we broadcast bytes of character and amputate the things that we like according to whatever dogma of social media exists. i imagine it has always been like this, but i picture what was once a slow learning curve has turned into a series of wood-chippers and casting molds. i worry, more, as i get older, that realistically maintaining some form of sanity is very dismal and ultimately lonely.

i maintain stout to the significance of not leaving ourselves completely vulnerable, except to those we love with sincerity. i cannot promise you fulfillment — in fact, i can nearly insure you that you will have drastically less satisfaction — but narrowly, hopefully, you may hold onto and survive through your ages.