There are aspects of my personality that I’m currently wrestling with. A lot. I scare myself often, and lately, I’ve been despising aspects of myself that I used to love. As I grow older, the rosy tint in my glasses is wearing off, and what I once viewed as strengths are starting to look more like fatal flaws.
For about a year now I’ve been reading a book called “Swann’s Way” by Marcel Proust. There is one scene in particular that elucidates my personality woes. In it, the narrator — a young boy — is recalling memories of a childhood friend named Bloch. It was the analysis of Bloch’s character through a grown-up perspective that resonated most with me, as reading the passage felt much like peering into a mirror:
He was, of course, hardly the friend my parents would have chosen for me; they had, in the end, decided that the tears which he had shed on hearing of my grandmother’s indisposition were genuine enough; but they knew, either instinctively or from experience, that our impulsive emotions have but little influence over the course of our actions and the conduct of our lives; and that regard for moral obligations, loyalty to friends, patience in finishing our work, obedience to a rule of life, have a surer foundation in habits solidly formed and blindly followed than in these momentary transports, ardent but sterile. They would have preferred for me, instead of Bloch, companions who would have given me no more than it is proper to give according to the laws of middle-class morality, who would not unexpectedly send me a basket of fruit because they happened, that morning, to have thought of me with affection, but who, being incapable of inclining in my favour, by a simple impulse of their imagination and sensibility, the exact balance of the duties and claims of friendship, would be equally incapable of loading the scales to my detriment.
Like Bloch, I operate largely upon the whims of my emotions. But intuitively, I’ve always understood that in order to navigate life well, one must balance their emotions with rational thinking. Yet at my core — as much as I hate to admit it — I’m an emotionally-driven person. How many times has my love, admiration, and undivided attention toward one shiny object been instantaneously replaced by a shinier one in the most inappropriate of circumstances?
As time passes, there’s this growing sense that things that once felt natural for me need to be stopped and re-examined. One of my reddest flags, in my opinion, is my proclivity for excitement — specifically the feeling that I’m rebelling against something. Doing the opposite of what I know I should be doing. Or as Dostoevsky would put it, proving that I’m not just a piano key, a predictable instrument governed by rules and reason.
For example:
– It’s 3:00 AM, why aren’t you going to bed?
– Because staying up late feels fun and exciting. Like I’m rebelling against the world, against societal expectations.
= Are you dumb? That might’ve been okay when you were in high school or college, but you’re a working adult now. In fact, you have work in 6 hours. What if you don’t show up on time? You’re going to feel miserable about yourself all day.
– I know. But I don’t care. I’m staying up. F you.
Sure enough, the next day, I regret everything. I show up late to work. I’m disappointed in myself. My coworkers are probably annoyed at me. I then internalize these negative emotions and fix myself, reborn the next day as a proper, responsible adult. I can keep this up for days, sometimes weeks. But inevitably, that older pattern of mine resurfaces, and I run it all back.
Isn’t that terrifying?
As a person, I feel things deeply, and my emotions often get the best of me. But what frightens me isn’t that I’m curious, or excitable, or easily moved. I’ve accepted those parts of me and I still see them as strengths. It’s that what I say and feel and think one day can completely change the next. If I want to get married and build a family some day, I need to become someone who can be trusted and relied upon. If even I can’t reliably predict my own behavior, how can I expect anyone to build a future with me?
I still don’t know how to reconcile habits and discipline with my emotional whims. I don’t want to become rigid or predictable, and I don’t want to lose that part of me that likes to stay up from time to time. I want to preserve what makes me feel alive without letting it completely sabotage the life I’m trying to build.
At the very least, I find comfort in seeing how seriously I treat these woes of mine. It’s a sign that I truly care. I don’t want to keep disappointing myself. That desire alone is appearing more frequently. In fact, it’s becoming something of a habit in itself. My hope is that with time and consistent effort, I’ll eventually become a trustworthy and dependable version of myself.
marginalia 