“I hear it said of somebody that he is leading a double life. I think to myself: Just two?” —Leon Wieseltier
We contain multitudes. Personalities are pieces of fabric sewn together with layers and layers of sometimes seemingly incongruous materials. But deep beneath that mismatch, the essence of our true nature thrives. Unwinding the knots of complexity reveals the building blocks of that Frankensteinian Voltron we call identity.
We’re able to manage striking dichotomies in our youth that become far more rare and much less tenable with age. But that’s what made each day feel like such an adventure.
I used to run into people.
As a wily teen, I spent many weekend nights cramped into poorly ventilated, overheated gyms, VFWs, and dilapidated all-ages music venues to watch punk and hardcore bands scraping together an existence by tapping into the abundant adolescent angst of mostly males looking for an outlet that didn’t live on football fields or wrestling mats.
We screamed along to PAs blasting distorted, indecipherable lyrics about clean living, distrusting the government, and animal rights. We slammed into one another, dodging haymaker fists and stomping boots. Spinning circles in some manic ballet, we were on an island of our own creation, and that independent spirit was the fuel that powered my rebellious little engine. Drenched in sweat and drained of frustration, we retreated from the battle in some state of earned euphoria, grateful to have survived another night in the trenches.
It was music specifically designed to elicit rage and defiance, and I soaked up every second.
Then, on Monday, I returned to my madrigal choir and a cappella chorus where my meticulously tuned tenor 1 voice endeavored to reach the highest of high notes. Hands clasped. Shoulders back. Wide eyes. Wider smiles. Bathing in the beauty of perfect harmonious balance. A wholly opposite community. A vastly different shared sense of accomplishment. But equal elation.
Was I a punk rocker? A chorus kid? An envelope-pusher? A strict, disciplined member of the collective? Yes. I was all of these things…and many more. They were some of the very best moments of my life, and I wouldn’t trade a second of that seemingly odd discordance to snap into some perfect mold of the typical, expected teen experience.
We do not all fit into boxes, so let’s stop building them.
Solitary Alignment 