My mind is a thesaurus. I’ve been so concerned about explaining myself, defining myself, excusing myself, that I missed the whole point. No one really gives a shit about my explanations. That’s not what the questions and raised brows are looking for. What they are looking for is to subdue me, subvert me, have me scurrying away for cover; threaten me into conformity. Now, this conformity can take any shape; mainstream,nonconformity; anything that bears a label and an explanation. Nonconformity is conformity. Any category is fine as long as I’m predictable. As long as I can be skim-read and discarded.
I’m not a genius. I’m not a feminist. I’m not a niqabi. I’m not a polyglot. I’m not depressed/bipolar/PTSD-survivor/childhood sexual abuse survivor. I’m not a Somali or a Swede. I’m not an INFJ. I’m not HSP. I’m not a bunch of letters put together to define a pre-conceived notion. I’m not having that.
I’m not any of the above any more than a house is bricks. When I’m defined by my sum parts, what happens to the rest of me that is undefined ? What happens to my whole?
I don’t want to be contained within rigid perimeters because that does away with the undiscovered territories within me.
I sent someone I know links to some articles on Psychology Today as they were going through a tough time and the articles were pertinent to their situation .They immediately had me know that this was a futile exercise because ‘ I know everything about myself, I have no unknown sides to me. INTJs are very self-aware.’
I left it at that. I learnt to reel in my sometimes overzealous altruism. It disturbed me, what they said. If I didn’t know better, I’d find the self-assuredness almost comical. It’s a scary world, a scary life. It’s easy to hem yourself in a defined area; INTJ/atheist/gamer/blunt/don’t like people. You conform to these and live life on autopilot. You don’t have to second-guess yourself, you don’t have to be bothered by life’s uncertainty; picking a career that you’re going to be stuck with for the next 40 years is difficult enough.
I’m a self-conformist. What does this entail? To be self-accepting of everything you are; known or unknown. Self-conformity is not a label as such, but a concept. It changes every moment. It changes when I read something thought-provoking, it changes when I have an altercation with a near one and I see a side to me that I didn’t know, it changes with the ebb and flow of life.It’s freedom to be lost,to be flawed,to be clueless,to be devastated. It’s knowing that life is going to stop one day, and that you have to live unfiltered to truly live. It’s about allowing yourself to be paradoxical and change your mind like you change clothes.It’s not having to explain yourself or water yourself down; it’s making peace with the unknown abyss that is you.
It’s being capricious. Life’s one big fleeting moment of ephemeral experiences and feelings, and it can’t be relied on. I can’t rely on any one of my traits because they might change in the next couple of months. I can’t rely on any one mood; whether it’s assigning myself to sullen pessimism or gullible optimism, it’s always on the lam. I could,theoretically, assign myself to a fixed set of traits and choices, but that wouldn’t change the inquietude nature of life. I could close my eyes to escape the transitory diurnal course but that wouldn’t stop the sun.
Self-conformity lies in moving with life wherever it takes you, and realizing that the only fixed thing in your life is death. So to be numb,to be self-compromising,to conform to an ideal that isn’t you is to spend your life in the waiting room to see death when death would have come to you anyway, regardless of where you are.
Let death pursue you and life embrace you.