I could have easily entitled this post "Frustration" as well, but that would seem to be redundant; frustration is simply a constant recurrence for me, I suppose.
So, this semester, I'm taking an Aesthetics seminar course here at the university. I've found it incredibly interesting so far, and aside from so far confirming what I've long thought about human aesthetics (specifically that there is essentially a way to quantify beauty by registering the number of characteristics a person possesses which signal reproductive fitness), I've noticed something else. As we sit in the classroom discussing which features have traditionally served as biological cues of reproductive fitness, and arguments for and against using those characteristics to define beauty, I'm constantly thinking, "Hm...does that describe my appearance"? I've also begun to look in my dorm room mirror even more than I previously did, which is saying something.
Am I really that shallow?
Granted, I can partially ease my concern about this by saying that paying attention to appearance is a perfectly natural thing to do, as, like most humans, I have a strong biological drive (not necessarily pleasure-centric) to fornicate with others, and thus to ensure that they want to do so with me as well. But as a person who spends a bulk of his time thinking in circles and squares, I can also quite easily shoot that thin excuse down.
After all, from a logical perspective, being gay, I won't be passing on genes when I have sex with another man, and there are several genetic qualities I feel it's almost a duty for me not to pass on (primarily the acne from which I suffered as a teenager, and the depressive view that has only partly stemmed from the effects that had on my adolescence).
Additionally, I thought I knew that looks, while important on a basic level, aren't crucial to success, even if being attractive does help. But the amount of time I spent concerned about how I look and how others look at me borders on pathological (see previous post), and my narcissism certainly hasn't helped me feel any better. Who doesn't tend to focus on their lesser qualities more than their positive attributes, in hopes of reducing them? But as I began typing this post, I came upon a more surprising, disturbing, and disappointing thought. I think that my concerns over appearance have led to me valuing that which I've long considered a weakness, albeit one we're all predisposed to: short-term and superficial gain, instead of the more meaningful long-term and structural reward that comes with focusing on deeper human qualities instead of simply how you look.
I mean, I can't even count the number of times when I've stopped reading a book or an article out of "boredom" and begun to watch something online, even though I'm totally aware that the reward for these things only comes with the completion of them. How many times have I wanted to start a sociology or philosophy text from the library, read about things I genuinely care about, seen the number or pages, and put it down? I'm ashamed to say that I can't even count the number of times I didn't read something just because there was something else to do that required less active participation. And it'd be best that my employer not figure out just how many times I've not gone to work basically because I didn't feel like it.
I wrote before about my "death drive", or desire to be surrounded by or participate in things or activities that are strictly speaking inactive. I've always been puzzled by people who say they prefer the deathly silence of a countryside to the liveliness and vitality of a metropolis, and yet long have I avoided activies that bear similar qualities. I've always justified doing so by saying either I won't have fun, the people I'm with won't have fun because I'm there (a healthy thought, I know), or the thing itself won't be fun. It's a sort of internal social awkwardness which I'm exceptionally good at hiding, but affects me all the same. I don't know where it came from, but I can't remember a time when it wasn't there.
As I've mentioned before, I have chronic self-esteem issues, and I think I'm finally beginning to understand just what that's meant for me. But what can I do? I can't make myself feel better, because if I do, it won't be because I'm better than I was the day before (even if I actually am in some way), it'll just be because I want to make myself feel better. I don't trust friends to tell the truth about me, even if I'm ever bold enough to risk their discomfort in asking them what they think of me, because as soon as they consider me a friend, there's a social advantage to keeping me (or anyone else the consider a friend) friendly. And I certainly don't trust family members, who have a biological and psychological drive (they want to make themselves feel that their genes are more likely to be passed on, and making someone else in their gene pool feel that way has the same effect), to tell me what they honestly think about me.
But where did the low self-esteem come from in the first place? I was made fun of as a kid (red hair, freckles, being taller than average, etc.), but the reasons for which I was made fun of no longer bother me, with the partial exception of my height. My parents, though not always the most attentive with 3 other kids to manage, never did anything that I can remember that seriously bruised my ego (repression?). My older brother, the only one close enough in age to influence me, would pick on me, but only ever in the way most siblings pick on one another. So why do I have such self-doubt? I like to think that I'm merely taking a more realistic approach to evaluating who I am than most people do about themselves, but is it realistic or unjustifiably negative? Is it depressive realism or just depression?
Of course, a number of times when I've felt my lowest, I've imagined myself with a guy who values me and enjoys my company in every way, and having that release me from so many of my concerns, but of course for that to happen would require that I figure out, at least to some extent, what's wrong with me in the first place so I can explain my head to my patient other. I'd say it's a chicken-or-egg problem, but really, it's the egg.
Anyone have an incubator? Or a chicken?
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