Coming home for the holidays during my college years was always a histrionic treat. There wasn’t an outfit that was crazy enough or a hat too outlandish. Back then, I took my cues from Madonna, walking into every room with a sense of star-power culled from the simple divine belief in myself. Whether faked or almost-realized, it was an attitude that could be seen as aloof or arrogant, as much as genuinely confident and powerful. Some would have said intimidating. Some still say intimidating.
Part of me expected all eyes to be on my every move. Whether it was walking into a crowded church on Christmas Eve or picking up some last minute groceries at the market, I demanded the notice of all, either by peculiar outfits or precisely-calibrated attitude. And with all honest reverence to the past, it was a gambit that largely succeeded. There is something very powerful and true to the adage ‘fake it ’til you make it‘ – there is something very real about manifesting the life you want to lead. It comes with a price, but it’s possible.
I was one of many typical college kids who returned to their small home-town feeling just slightly better than everyone else, confidently realizing that I had outgrown my humble beginnings, that the attitudes and narrow-minded views of so many around me were backward and behind and unworthy of the slightest nod. It wasn’t entirely false, and it wasn’t entirely fair. My arrogance was armor, and my aloofness saved me from things I didn’t even realize until I took it all off and saw the scratches, until I heard about various character-assassination attempts. Rather than retreat, I armed myself with Oscar Wilde quotes ~ “The only thing worse than being talked about is not being talked about” ~ adding to my arsenal with haughtier behavior, honed by the musical inspiration of Madonna, cut sharp by the biting tongue of Bette Davis, and polished by the societal propriety found in the writings of Edith Wharton.
Oddly or luckily enough, my Icarus-like wings survived my sun-circling and selfish years ~ my reckoning would not come until much, much later (and much more recently), not that I didn’t consider certain set-backs and failures devastating defeats. But looking back, all that mattered then was the show, and the show was the exuberance of college-age youth, tackling Comparative Literature with the same gusto as gay equality, dazzling with philosophical theories as much as a gold lame shirt.
These days I carry a sense of genuine confidence that comes from a relatively-lately-learned humility, the ability to admit I will never be perfect, the ability to embrace such imperfections, the knowledge that I will never be completely right, and more importantly the knowledge that being right doesn’t always translate to being good.
I look back on the silliness I manifested when I came home form college, all bright-eyed and falsely-confident, and I nod with a slight smile. It was the best I could do. A lot has changed since then, but I still love a good hat, especially with a bird on it.
