The mail came late that day, and he was nervous. There weren’t many days on which he anticipated mail as much as today; but this day was different. His pacing would have annoyed anyone had they been with him, and after spending the last hour doing nothing but that, even he began to notice. “I’m too anxious,” he said aloud. “I have to sit down, breathe, clear my head.” He did so, but was up moments later, again anticipating the news that was sure to come.
A package dropped to the floor through the mailbox, and as quickly as it had, Jesse picked it up. He tore open the manila envelope with such dramatic violence that any passerby would have thought him angry.
In a way, he was. It wasn’t that he particularly needed the justification that he felt a degree in engineering would bring. In fact, he had already proven himself in so many other ways—finding a lucrative job on his own, moving out in his late teens, staying out of debt while buying a home; but to this day, he felt too frequently the silent judgment of his brother, who when they were younger would smirk as Jesse’s father would read aloud the mediocre grades of his report cards.
No, Jesse didn’t need a piece of paper to tell him he was good enough; but it certainly helped to shore up what he would never admit was an ever-sagging confidence in himself.
In fact, Jesse admitted very little about his faults, least of all to himself. This was his way of maintaining the narrative in his mind that he was okay, and it worked for him.
It worked, that is, until the day several weeks later when all his efforts at self-preservation exploded in his face.
It happened when Jesse was driving home from work. His aunt called, asking if Jesse could talk to her son, Jesse’s cousin, who was about Jesse’s age. After he agreed and arrived at their home, Jesse entered to find his aunt yelling at his cousin Tyler, who was sitting in the family room, staring blankly ahead. She was telling him that he needed to get up, find a job, and move out. He was, she said, “lazy and exploitative.” He needed to leave.
Jesse, who normally felt uneasy when his aunt did this — after all, open conflict was frequent in Jesse’s immediate and extended family—found a sudden and strange confidence in himself. He didn’t know why at the moment; but although he felt a quiet voice inside him telling him to hesitate, to listen, and to stop for a moment, he seized upon his boldness and joined in the invective.
“She’s right, Tyler. You’ve been taking advantage of your mom’s kindness your entire life. Don’t you feel any pride in yourself?”
It was here where Jesse’s life changed. A flash crossed his cousin’s eyes as he broke free from his mental quarantine. He turned to face Jesse.
“Me? Don’t I feel pride in myself? Look at your life, Jesse. You’ve lived your whole life to please your dad and brother. Don’t pretend you’re any different than me. At least I admit I don’t have a life. You, on the other hand, spend your life living it for other people so that when they feed you your approval, you feel like you matter.”
It was that quickly that the mental walls Jesse had so carefully built, brick by brick, around his mind came tumbling to the ground.
He was silent, and remained that way as he walked out of the house, got in his car, and drove slowly home.
His cousin was right. His life was an incomprehensible puzzle, the pieces of which he was given by his family and friends, who watched as he tried to make some whole meaning from them.
He sat for hours that night, breaking down every life step he had taken and pinpointing the reason for each. That reason was always the same. He wanted to be good enough. Jesse rarely cried, but this night he wept bitterly.
Since this realization was the end of everything he thought he had known about himself, he now found no reason to hold back. If the walls were going to fall, he told himself, then he would speed the process. He would take his mental sledge hammer and destroy everything he knew about his scarecrow identity.
He began to vocalize everything he knew he did for the sake of approval. It was a long list, but one—he thought—that needed to be said aloud. This would give voice to the motives in his heart that he had denied in himself for so long, and that at the same time had kept him a prisoner in his own life.
This was the beginning, and only the beginning, of something new. Jesse next made the same confessions to his family, his friends, and to anyone else who would listen (which, by the way, was a lot, since others are quaintly curious at the voicing aloud of internal struggles to strange listeners; indeed, whether on a subway train or in a grocery store line, it made for good drama).
At first, Jesse felt deflated, blank, without any sense of self. Over time, however, after airing these truths out exhaustively to others, Jesse learned that from the rubble of his life he could begin to build something; so he did.
He began asking himself what he liked, and—importantly—what he hated, for he had never allowed himself to voice hatred for anything. Doing so would have garnered the disapproval of those around him. When he did, when he identified his preferences, he moved on to his beliefs. This introspection lasted until he began to feel a confidence he had not felt before. It was novel, and he liked it.
Learning that he enjoyed studying people, Jesse decided to return to school to do so. He enrolled in a local university and decided to major in sociology.
Jesse’s life, which had to this point been directed and molded by others, was finally beginning to take shape, a shape that he could define clearly and that he liked. He knew himself now. Strange, he thought at first, that it was conflict—the very thing he avoided at all costs—that became the catalyst for his metamorphosis into himself.
Yet, before falling asleep one night, a subtle discontentment surfaced that Jesse had not noticed until now; but he knew now—finally—that there was something he could now do about it. Confession, he thought. That was what had changed him before, and it was what would drive his search for truth now. This was the beginning of a new chapter in his life, one he knew he’d be proud to read.
A package dropped to the floor through the mailbox, and as quickly as it had, Jesse picked it up. He tore open the manila envelope with such dramatic violence that any passerby would have thought him angry.
In a way, he was. It wasn’t that he particularly needed the justification that he felt a degree in engineering would bring. In fact, he had already proven himself in so many other ways—finding a lucrative job on his own, moving out in his late teens, staying out of debt while buying a home; but to this day, he felt too frequently the silent judgment of his brother, who when they were younger would smirk as Jesse’s father would read aloud the mediocre grades of his report cards.
No, Jesse didn’t need a piece of paper to tell him he was good enough; but it certainly helped to shore up what he would never admit was an ever-sagging confidence in himself.
In fact, Jesse admitted very little about his faults, least of all to himself. This was his way of maintaining the narrative in his mind that he was okay, and it worked for him.
It worked, that is, until the day several weeks later when all his efforts at self-preservation exploded in his face.
It happened when Jesse was driving home from work. His aunt called, asking if Jesse could talk to her son, Jesse’s cousin, who was about Jesse’s age. After he agreed and arrived at their home, Jesse entered to find his aunt yelling at his cousin Tyler, who was sitting in the family room, staring blankly ahead. She was telling him that he needed to get up, find a job, and move out. He was, she said, “lazy and exploitative.” He needed to leave.
Jesse, who normally felt uneasy when his aunt did this — after all, open conflict was frequent in Jesse’s immediate and extended family—found a sudden and strange confidence in himself. He didn’t know why at the moment; but although he felt a quiet voice inside him telling him to hesitate, to listen, and to stop for a moment, he seized upon his boldness and joined in the invective.
“She’s right, Tyler. You’ve been taking advantage of your mom’s kindness your entire life. Don’t you feel any pride in yourself?”
It was here where Jesse’s life changed. A flash crossed his cousin’s eyes as he broke free from his mental quarantine. He turned to face Jesse.
“Me? Don’t I feel pride in myself? Look at your life, Jesse. You’ve lived your whole life to please your dad and brother. Don’t pretend you’re any different than me. At least I admit I don’t have a life. You, on the other hand, spend your life living it for other people so that when they feed you your approval, you feel like you matter.”
It was that quickly that the mental walls Jesse had so carefully built, brick by brick, around his mind came tumbling to the ground.
He was silent, and remained that way as he walked out of the house, got in his car, and drove slowly home.
His cousin was right. His life was an incomprehensible puzzle, the pieces of which he was given by his family and friends, who watched as he tried to make some whole meaning from them.
He sat for hours that night, breaking down every life step he had taken and pinpointing the reason for each. That reason was always the same. He wanted to be good enough. Jesse rarely cried, but this night he wept bitterly.
Since this realization was the end of everything he thought he had known about himself, he now found no reason to hold back. If the walls were going to fall, he told himself, then he would speed the process. He would take his mental sledge hammer and destroy everything he knew about his scarecrow identity.
He began to vocalize everything he knew he did for the sake of approval. It was a long list, but one—he thought—that needed to be said aloud. This would give voice to the motives in his heart that he had denied in himself for so long, and that at the same time had kept him a prisoner in his own life.
This was the beginning, and only the beginning, of something new. Jesse next made the same confessions to his family, his friends, and to anyone else who would listen (which, by the way, was a lot, since others are quaintly curious at the voicing aloud of internal struggles to strange listeners; indeed, whether on a subway train or in a grocery store line, it made for good drama).
At first, Jesse felt deflated, blank, without any sense of self. Over time, however, after airing these truths out exhaustively to others, Jesse learned that from the rubble of his life he could begin to build something; so he did.
He began asking himself what he liked, and—importantly—what he hated, for he had never allowed himself to voice hatred for anything. Doing so would have garnered the disapproval of those around him. When he did, when he identified his preferences, he moved on to his beliefs. This introspection lasted until he began to feel a confidence he had not felt before. It was novel, and he liked it.
Learning that he enjoyed studying people, Jesse decided to return to school to do so. He enrolled in a local university and decided to major in sociology.
Jesse’s life, which had to this point been directed and molded by others, was finally beginning to take shape, a shape that he could define clearly and that he liked. He knew himself now. Strange, he thought at first, that it was conflict—the very thing he avoided at all costs—that became the catalyst for his metamorphosis into himself.
Yet, before falling asleep one night, a subtle discontentment surfaced that Jesse had not noticed until now; but he knew now—finally—that there was something he could now do about it. Confession, he thought. That was what had changed him before, and it was what would drive his search for truth now. This was the beginning of a new chapter in his life, one he knew he’d be proud to read.
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