Quiet

Quiet

Since my son was born (and before that, too - pandemic-related), I’ve been a different person. Or maybe the way to put it is this: after years of carefully crafting a persona that enabled me to be more fully myself, I’ve become my old self again. The great silent, formless mist of my old self. As impossible thing to actually be – a consciousness without qualities – as a boy who never grows up, or a perfect woman.

My constructed persona was a social animal and a workhorse. She was an optimist, a wheeler dealer, and a foodie in her finnicky, mentally unhealthy way. She owned some articles of clothing she loved. She ran five miles daily (six when she was being compulsive), often to meet friends across Brooklyn. She sat through movies and even plays, when invited to do so, without panicking. She kept up an impressive number of text conversations and used exclamation points exactly right. She posted a lot on social media, and maintained avid contact with all the strangers, good and evil, who sought contact, not to mention the long-lost friends and nth degree acquaintances. She gave talks. She drew ten cartoons a week to submit to the New Yorker and published a book once a year and accepted all the freelance offered, often signing contracts without reading them first, I’ll admit, because money was not the point. Keeping busy was the point. And it paid off.

This constructed persona was circular: my outward-facing self was fueled by positive feedback (connections with people, busyness), which, in turn, allowed me to keep facing outward.

Then it all collapsed. I’m not sure exactly how (pandemic, age, marriage, motherhood?) or, if I’m being honest, if it really did collapse, or if this is more a matter of self-perception.

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A quick reminder that my new kids book, Mixed Feelings, will be out in a couple of weeks. You can preorder it here. I’ll write soon with a peek - and dates for talks.

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