How Do You See Yourself?

On Friday Marrie wrote a thought-provoking post on her blog about how her perception of herself has changed over the course of her life. She asked her readers, "how do you see yourself? Do you think about that ever, or am I the only one?" I think we all ruminate on how we see ourselves from time to time, and Marrie's post really got my brain humming. I would like to offer my response today.

You can read Marrie's original post here, but be advised that I will be quoting it throughout the course of my response -- Marrie's thoughts will be shown in italics.

When I was 7, I saw myself as the best roller skater ever. I saw myself as a "West Coast Girl" from the beach boys song "California Girls." I had not learned to judge myself harshly yet.

In my youth, I was driven by a sense of purpose most children lack. I knew early on exactly what I wanted to be when I grew up: a "city builder." But even as a child, I already saw myself as a "city builder," even if my creations were only manifest in drawings and "models" I would build in my room. I even insisted that people call me "Mr. Mitchell City" for a time. I'm still amazed that I saw a purpose for my life so clearly, practically from birth -- no one knows why, least of all me.

I suppose I had a hard time seeing myself for the child that I was. My mom's philosophy when it came to raising me was to treat me as an adult, to accord me with the respect she would a contemporary and provide me freedom to make my own decisions. She came to regret this decision for many reasons, but I feel that it may have ultimately benefited me. I was a precocious child anyway and always related better to adults than to children my own age. On some level, I was probably resentful that I wasn't an adult, that it wasn't time yet for me to go out and make my dreams a reality.

I'd like to share an anecdote that illustrates these points. My mom had always supported my ambitions to be a "city builder," so as a seventh birthday present she arranged for me to meet John F. Long, a prominent Phoenix developer. In the early 1950's, Mr. Long created Phoenix's first "master-planned" suburban community, Maryvale, and my mom grew up there. I also lived in Maryvale for a few years as a child and went to kindergarten at John F. Long Elementary School. I knew well who Mr. Long was -- I knew he had built Maryvale and owned Maryvale Mall -- so this meeting was a thrill for me.

My meeting with John F. Long took a bizarre turn when he showed me where he planned to build his next community: a large swath of vacant desert land near Lake Pleasant, far from the edge of Phoenix (in 1986, not today). I was horrified, since I'd already decided that this same property would be home to "Mitchell City." To my mom's surprise, Mr. Long actually engaged me in a debate as to who had rights to the land, going so far as to show me documents that proved he had beat me to it. Our argument demonstrates the depth of my drive and ambition at that young age...traits that have not dissipated over time. I was, and still am, "Mr. Mitchell City."

When I was 11 I looked in the mirror at my friends house, in her mothers darkened room and saw myself as a chubby little gnome, like the ones that people put in their yards, with the red hats. I think it stuck with me because we didn't have any full length mirrors in our house, so I never saw myself that way before ... Then when I was 12, I somehow "earned" the label of "Pizza Face" at my school, and that was added to my mental image. At 13, and a different school now, someone said, "What are you, a midget? Your head is WAY too big for your body." So then I was a gnome with acne and a big head, and my feeling that I was a genius was starting to fade.

Ah, yes...the pre-teen and teen years are the worst. This is when most of us learn how to judge ourselves harshly...partly because of our own insecurities, partly because our peers seem so willing to lob criticism at us.

I was a target for many reasons. Aside from my interests and ambitions in urban planning, which no one else shared, my personality was "different" (some might even say "outlandish" or "bizarre"). Unlike most boys, I didn't play sports, nor did I have any interest in them. My adult teeth had grown in quite haphazardly, leaving me with a crooked smile that took several years of orthodonture to "correct." My head was topped with an abnormal mound of ultra-curly hair, a hardly fashionable hair-do that my peers labelled a "fro." Dig this scan of my photo in my eighth grade yearbook:

Sure, I was teased a lot, but not more than other people. At every school, there are a handful of people who become "outcasts," targets for the collective scorn of the entire student body, and I was never one of those. For the most part, I flew "under the radar," and while I always had a handful of close friends, I was anything but "popular." I saw myself as something of an "outsider" and didn't feel like I "belonged." I certainly didn't feel attractive to the opposite sex, which began to become a concern for me around this time.

But then, a month before school started, my mom dropped a bomb on all my plans, "You aren't going to high school, you are going to be homeschooled now." She told me, and I was crushed. I got so much academic recognition at school, and I was finally growing out of my awkward stage...I started to see myself as a nobody. I wasn't smart. The public school system only made me think that I was smart because I played within the system. It didn't matter if I was finally cute, either, because no one would ever see me and I would never have a cute boyfriend.

I didn't have any reason to think that going to high school would change how I saw myself. I was planning to go to McClintock High, only a few blocks from where I went to elementary school and junior high, and I'd continue to have many of the same classmates. I didn't view high school as a place to "reinvent myself." In fact, I remained convinced that childhood was relatively meaningless and just a hurdle for me to get over on my way to becoming an adult; I still had my "eyes on the prize," becoming someone important, eventually doing great things. My mentality at the time is demonstrated well by what I wrote on the eighth grade's "signature page," published in every single copy of the 1993 Connolly Middle School yearbook:

"One day I will employ you all!" -- Oh, the arrogance! But it was good-natured arrogance in the sense I was telling my classmates, yes, you may have teased me because I have messed-up teeth and kinky hair, but I'm going to be "somebody," you'll see!

Like Marrie, I had a curve ball thrown at me, but I was better prepared for it. In the eighth grade, my mom was insistent that I apply to Brophy College Preparatory and attend high school there if accepted. Nothing about Brophy appealed to me: it was a private school, it was a Catholic school (Jesuit), it wasn't co-ed (guys only), it was in Uptown Phoenix, over 10 miles from home, and none of my few friends were considering attending. However, I understood that my mom realized Brophy would help me get where I wanted to be in life by presenting me with opportunities I wouldn't otherwise have. The public schools in Tempe weren't terrible, but I was open to the idea of challenging myself more intellectually.

I did end up enrolling at Brophy and began to see myself differently in that I was going to a prestigious private school...I was proud to have been accepted there. Brophy fed my ambitions far more than McClintock would have. However, the Brophy experience caused me to see myself differently in another way. I felt even more like an "outsider" because most of my classmates were far different from me: many of them had gone to private school their whole lives, were practicing Catholics, and most importantly, their parents were rich, or at least far better off financially than my mom was.

Bear in mind, my family was anything but "poor," I suppose you could say we were "lower-middle-class." The tuition at Brophy was somewhat expensive, but luckily the school was generous with financial aid to those who needed it. Part of my package was a "work study" allowance that entailed I work at the school. For most of my freshman year, I spent two hours each day after school assisting the janitorial staff. While I admire the "work ethic" this experience instilled in me, I was quite resentful that I had to clean classrooms after school when so few of my peers did. I began to see myself as "disadvantaged," and I became envious of my wealthier peers. This perception wasn't entirely negative, as it pushed me even harder to realize my potential.

So for a while I felt like nothing. I was ok looking, and ok intelligence wise, but the main thing I was, the main image I had when I called up myself in my mind, was lonely. Picture a girl locked up her room with a few Christian text books, and you get the picture. I only had friends because Liz introduced me to people she knew from school.

I felt just as alienated while attending Brophy as Marrie did while being home schooled. I just didn't fit in at Brophy and I didn't get involved with any extracirricular activities. I too saw myself as alone and lonely. I eventually fell in with a group of friends, something of a support network since all the guys in my "clique" didn't fit into the Brophy student body in one way or another...sadly, though, I was regarded as the "weirdest" and had to endure quite a bit of criticism and teasing even from them.

Since I didn't want to view myself through the prism of my academic life (though I excelled in my class work), I soon latched onto seeing myself through the prism of my professional life, i.e. my "job." Brophy encouraged its "work study" students to seek outside employment by vowing to match their paychecks "dollar for dollar" if they signed them over to the school. As a 14-year-old, outside employment wasn't an option, but after my freshman year I was 15 (old enough to legally work in Arizona) and I sought out a "summer job."

In June 1994, I was hired as a "Courtesy Clerk" at Smitty's #7 in Tempe. It was well known among Phoenix teens that Smitty's was the only supermarket chain that would consider hiring 15-year-olds due to the extra restrictions placed upon their duties and schedules by Arizona labor laws. I applied to the nearest Smitty's although it was three miles away from my house and I called every week thereafter begging the managers for a job. I think my persistence impressed the management, enabling me to begin an illustrious stint in the supermarket industry.

Although I was bagging groceries and retrieving carts from the parking lot (in 110 degree weather) and only making the minimum wage ($4.25), I loved working, and I loved working at Smitty's. I kept the job during my sophomore year at Brophy, though I only worked on the weekends.

The summer between my sophomore and junior years, I got a second job as a receptionist for Big Surf waterpark in Tempe. Between the two jobs, I was working 60-80 hours a week, and there were only a handful of days during that entire summer when I didn't work at either job (often, I worked at both). I was able to pay off my "work study" obligation for junior year before the summer was even over, garnering a letter of commendation from Brophy's financial aid staff! I had become a consumate "workaholic" because it felt so good to actually "do something" like a "real" adult -- I took my jobs seriously and saw value in the contributions I made. I stayed with Smitty's until I left for USC and also returned to Big Surf for several more summers.

The fact that I saw myself as a gainfully employed person more than as a high school student is well documented by the caption I wrote for my senior photo in the 1997 Brophy yearbook. Note that I list my jobs before the few extra-cirricular activities I was involved in:

Also of note in this caption: my question "Could I be the next Sam Walton?" Once a Wal-Mart freak, "Always" a Wal-Mart freak, right?

One of my friends was on the yearbook staff and he helped ensure my love for Smitty's was documented on the "Jobs" page of the 1997 yearbook as well:

By my senior year, I saw myself as a largely independent "adult," at long last. My mom explicitly told me she considered 17 to be the year I should obtain independence and she didn't impose curfews or otherwise infringe upon my freedom. I had saved enough money to buy myself a car at 16, and I was extremely proud of "The Dream Machine," my modest 1980 Honda Accord.

Having a car is pretty much a necessity for a teenager in Phoenix, and owning a vehicle saved me the two hour bus ride home from Brophy to Tempe and allowed me to work on weeknights as well. The symbolic importance of the car to me is demonstrated by an extremely unflattering photo of me draped across the hood of "The Dream Machine" that found its way into the 1997 yearbook. Yeah, I know you want to see it:

I think the "rich kid" mentality that permeated Brophy is expressed through the fake "quote" attributed to me. Sure, I owned a 17-year-old compact sedan, but it didn't break down "most of the time," in fact it was remarkably reliable. The fact of the matter was that this car was considered a "joke" compared to the exquisite classic cars, convertibles, and SUV's displayed elsewhere on the "Autos" page of the yearbook...but I bought it myself, it wasn't a gift from my wealthy mommy and daddy.

Of course, I probably saw myself as more important than I really was and that my accomplishments were far greater than what they really were. My best friend Michael, in the caption he wrote for his own senior photo, quoted "The Little Prince" when (somewhat righteously) taking me down a peg and (less righteously) mocking my hair style in one fell swoop: "MG-You are busy with matters of consequence! This makes you swell up with pride. But you are not a man, you are a MUSHROOM!"

So most of the guys that I dated were guys that she rejected first. I was a second class kinda girl. No one would want me first, but I was ok if the first choice wasn't available ...Then when I was 15 I met a boy who changed all that ... One of the members of the "new group" I was hanging out with introduced me to a boy named Caleb. Ahhh, Caleb. He was sooo handsome and perfect. I didn't even pay attention to him, I thought he was so out of my league. Then it turned out, he liked me. Imagine my surprise. I hadn't given him a second thought, because I was too realistic for something like that, and suddenly, he is breaking up with his girlfriend to date me ... I was so in love with him, and it turned out, he was so in love with me! He saw things in me that I didn't know where there ... Then his mom met me, and she said, "She's cute but she's no Christy," referring to the girl he broke up with to be with me. After that I was always comparing myself to Christy ... So for a while my image of myself was, "Ok, but not as good as someone else."Then one day I went to the Bon Marche to get some lipstick for prom. I had my makeup done and then I was walking through the mall to get to my car, and as I was walking I glanced in the mirrored wall beside me, and I saw a girl walking beside me, "Oh, what a pretty girl," I thought. Then I looked again and started laughing, because there was no girl walking beside me, the image I saw was of me. I had seen myself, and thinking I was someone else, I didn't judge myself and I thought I was a pretty girl. That was a nice confidence booster for me.

Unfortunately, there wasn't a female equivalent to "Caleb" in my high school days that encouraged me to begin seeing myself as "attractive." All through high school, I remained convinced that I was quite unattractive -- even though my braces came off a couple months before senior year started, revealing a much nicer smile, I was very skinny (5'8" 120 lbs.!) and still self-concious about my unruly locks. Furthermore, I didn't play sports, I wasn't in a band, I didn't think I had much to offer at all. Geez, I spent my spare time bagging groceries at Smitty's and reading books about Sam Walton! I didn't go to either of my "proms," but I did go to one formal dance with a girl who seemed to like me but ended up treating me horribly.

I often joke that going to an all-boys school for four years stunted my "social development," especially with regard to women and dating. This is somewhat true, though, since I had a hard time meeting girls during high school -- I was unbearably shy and self-concious in those days, leaving me without a modicum of self-confidence. My perception of myself as unattractive, coupled with my shyness and lack of self-confidence, led me into a vicious cycle when it comes to dating that I've never fully escaped.

When I got to college, I had far more opportunities to interact with girls and was shocked when I realized girls were flirting with me. I finally ditched my "mushroom" hair-do and grew long sideburns that complemented my face. Towards the end of my freshman year at USC, I could finally look in the mirror and consider myself attractive -- not a "dreamboat," but better looking than many other guys!

I've often found myself falling into the trap that Marrie described: not feeling "worthy" of a person of the opposite sex. During college and even afterwards, I found myself sliding into deep "schoolboy" crushes wherein I put the girl on such a pedestal that I couldn't so much as say "hi" to her without getting unbearably nervous. Of course, most girls picked up on my self-doubt and the resultant nervous energy and found it awkward and unattractive. As you might expect, a lack of success in many dating endeavors only makes me see myself as even less appealing to women, another vicious cycle. I have only recently begun to learn that such a perception is warped and that I am indeed quite "worthy" of love and companionship. I am attempting to build the confidence I should've had years ago.

USC was a much more hospitable environment than Brophy in a lot of ways. I began to see myself less as an "outsider," especially once I began taking urban planning classes, which demonstrated I was not alone in my passion. The social landscape of the campus allowed for many more "nitches" than did Brophy, and I found myself interacting with a few different groups of people I felt comfortable with. Sadly, I didn't get involved in many extra-ciricular activities and still felt my job (assisting the accounting staff at USCard) was my main contribution to society. It wasn't until my senior year that I got more involved and really "hit my stride." In April 2001, only weeks before I graduated, I had my writing published in three student publications: the "Daily Trojan," the "Trojan Horse," and "Palaver," and all the positive feedback I recieved encouraged me to begin seeing myself as a writer.

In my college years, I did not see myself as an "academic," though I graduated as valedictorian for the Planning and Development undergrad class (before you get too impressed, bear in mind the class consisted of only about 15 people). I continued to see education merely as a means to an end -- in fact, it frustrated me because I percieved it as a form of "mental masturbation." I wasn't satisfied to write something or do a project just to have one person (a professor) look at it, put a letter on it, and give it back to me. I wanted my work to mean something more, and I had become very anxious to get into "the real world," where I felt I would find a greater sense of purpose. I declined the offer of an "accelerated program" that would have earned me a Master's in Planning and Development in only one additional year of college. Sometimes I question my logic at the time, but I don't regret my decision, I wanted to move on.

Once I started working for the County, I primarily saw myself as a professional urban planner. I thought I had finally realized my life's dream, that I had finally "made it." But I came to identify myself with my job so much that it became dangerous to my well-being. I didn't attempt to develop any new interests or hobbies and my life became "all cities, all the time." I had my sights set on a goal my entire life -- once I had largely accomplished that goal, I found myself lost.

The image of myself in my mind has changed many times over the course of the years, and even now it is always changing. I think that now I see myself as a mom/wife most of the time. Someone whose appearance really doesn't matter, someone whose intellect doesn't really matter, and it makes me a little sad.

In my view, Marrie is confining herself by seeing herself as "just" a "mom/wife" whose appearance and intellect "doesn't matter." Being a stay-at-hom mom/wife is a very difficult job -- more importantly, it's crucial that we see ourselves as more than just our professions.

Over the last year, the novelty of working as a professional planner had worn off and I couldn't get myself to see myself as anything more. By neglecting to develop new interests and hobbies, I didn't have anything else to look forward to besides work. My closest friends from USC had all moved away and I didn't make the necessary effort to bring new people into my life that would encourage me to try new things, move in different directions, and see myself in new and different ways. I became much more than "a little sad," I became devastatingly depressed. Many nights and weekends I'd just sit in my apartment, lamenting that I had "nothing to do" despite the fact that an exciting city with millions of people was right outside my door. I wasn't happy that I only had a handful of friends and I felt even more isolated and lonely than I did during my high school days. I embraced a mindset that was self-destructive.

As I've shared before, I was fortunate enough to work up the nerve to take a week-long vacation to the East Coast and visit some old friends last May...this trip proved to be a much-needed kick in the ass. I realized that I couldn't sit around and wait for a hero to arrive on a white horse and deliver me from my funk. I had to accept that I was the reason I was unhappy and that I was the only person who could effect the changes necessary to allow me to see myself as more than a "Zoning Cop." I knew it would be difficult to make changes, but I knew I had to try...otherwise I would continue to feel that my life had little meaning and that I didn't have anything to offer people beyond an ability to cite them for code violations.

(T)hat is one of the reasons why I write in my blog, I want to know that I still can write something, that I still have a brain that is useful for things other than thinking up a new way of getting my kids to do what I want without spanking them, or other things like that. Another reason I write is to feel understood. Most of the time I feel like I'm alone, like no one understands me, like the people who would listen to me if I tried to explain myself are too involved in the situation to really understand, because they'd hear me through their own filters.Whatever I think and do and feel impacts those people, and they can't get around that impact enough to really understand ME.

Marrie and I have both turned to blogging as a means to seeing ourselves in new ways. Marrie is an excellent writer, not nearly as long-winded as yours truly and far more thought-provoking. Our new-found hobby allows each of us to contribute something more to the world around us. Blogging has shown me that I should see myself as more than a "Zoning Cop," and I hope it has shown Marrie that she should see herself as more than a "mom/wife."

Such a big part of my recent funk was that I felt entirely alone. I've always been very different from other people, so these feelings never go away, but I was somewhat disappointed by my experiences in adulthood. I spent my youth idealizing what life would be like as an adult, naively believing that then people would finally understand and appreciate me. Being around other urban planners wasn't the liberating experience I envisioned -- (as you might expect) few others in planning school or at the Department were as nearly as passionate about (and obsessed with) cities, planning, and development as I was. In addition, for the most part I interact with people far older than me in my profession. I still have trouble relating to people in my age group, and they have trouble relating to me.

Like Marrie, I feel that when I try to "explain myself" to the people in my life, they hear it through their own filters and focus on the impact my thoughts and feelings have on them. I'm amazed that when I express myself through this blog, people I don't even know "get" me. I wasn't anticipating this, and I remain pleasantly surprised by it. By blogging, I've been able to interact with many like-minded people who are willing to engage in an ongoing conversation we're all having with each other. I am not nearly as alone or as hard to understand as I once thought.

So how do I see myself today? The name of this blog should answer that question. I'm beginning to see myself as more than an urban planner, but I have a lot more work to do to become the person I want to be. There are many aspects of my personality and behavioral patterns that I don't like. But I now see myself as a person with the strength and ability to change -- I didn't as recently as a few months ago. I am beginning to also see myself as someone others can come to understand, appreciate, even love. I had become convinced that I would live a misunderstood, solitary existence forever -- that I was too unique, too unusual, too quirky to ever "fit in" anywhere or with anyone. I still feel alienated and alone much of the time, but I refuse to be fatalistic about my life and where it will lead. Many things have happened to me in the last few months that demonstrate we can never be set in how we see ourselves, that we must challenge our perceptions and embrace our "true self," elusive and obfuscated though it may be.

Consider how Marrie and I have seen ourselves over the years and how we see ourselves today. Think about your own perceptions. Let me repeat Marrie's question (at least rhetorically) to all of you: How do you see yourself?