MANIFESTO?

I am misunderstood. It is no one's fault, really. I am not sure that I really understand myself, therefore, how can I expect someone else to know me with any sense of depth. They probably don't even know who they are.

We build myths about ourselves, stories that we use to help us navigate through life. My friend Daniel, however, cautions against concentrating too intently or intensely upon any one of these myths or stories because that distorts our picture of who we are. Additionally, if the myth we are reliant upon collapses then what is left? Nothing.

In this line of thinking, I am rather disturbed at some of the labels that have been attached to me. These labels are accurate, to a point, but they do not capture who I am when they are the sole lens through which I am viewed. This is something I need to remind myself as well as others.

First, I am an introvert. I enjoy spending time alone. It helps me to recharge, to regain energy, to reflect, to think things through, to observe. I notice that many people then assume that I cannot be energetic or flamboyant or loud or aggressive. Am I oftentimes reserved and quiet? Yes, but I can also exhibit the aforementioned qualities as well. Being an introvert doesn't mean that I am shy or awkward in social situations, although I can display those qualities at times. A great book that I have turned to occasionally is The Introvert Advantage: How to Thrive in an Extrovert World by Marti Olsen Laney, Psy.D. I have not read the entire book, but use it more as a reference book that I turn to when in need of an answer—much like I would do with a dictionary or encyclopedia. I believe that I really need to make some time to read the entire book. I wish that some of the extroverts that surround me would read it also, and that we could have a conversation about the book. Who knows...

Second, I am not the best at establishing or maintaining friendships. Oftentimes, others seem to be an unnecessary burden to me. Perhaps, I am too selfish or self-absorbed to look outside of myself. I think I have greatly improved over the past few years but most of the credit for that would have to go to two people who have been steadfast companions for me: the wife and the child. They have tolerated my quirks and idiosyncrasies. They have allowed me to be who I am, with only minor conditions applied here and there, most of which have turned out to be for my own good. Recently, my brother has helped me to examine my friendships. He gave me the book Vital Friends: The People You Can't Afford to Live Without by Tom Rath. I have read half of the book, so far. I am not normally one to read books that would grace the self-help categories of a bookstore, but have decided to stick this one out due to the graciousness and persistence of my brother. He also happens to be reading the book, which should open up another opportunity for conversation in the near future. I agree with most of Rath's argument to this point, but will be interested to see more of the Gallup Organization research that underlies his book when I reach the appendices. I will also be interested to read about his eight categories of friends—builders, collaborators, connectors, mind openers, champions, companions, energizers, and navigators—to see which best describes me and to see which best describes my own family and friends.

Third, I am a depressive. I have never been clinically diagnosed but all the signs are there. Sure, there are times when I am manic or have outbursts of joy or happiness, but the feelings of moroseness and melancholy most assuredly return. I have become more attuned to when the feelings of sadness are trending toward despair, and so has the wife, which is a great thing to have a companion that can sense when the darkness is coming and help you prepare and help you to move it quickly away, as well as to weather it with you. A wonderful book that has given me great insight into this disease is The Noonday Demon: An Atlas of Depression by Andrew Solomon. He examines all aspects of depression, including his own, along with various treatments and techniques for coping with the disease. The chapter headings alone are a synopsis of his stories and examinations—depression, breakdowns, treatments, alternatives, populations, addiction, suicide, history, poverty, politics, evolution, and hope. His view is that of an insider and one that is often unflinching even as it explores the darkest nooks and crannies of the darkness.

If I were a monk, I would be a contemplative, content to remain secluded, silent, in solitude, isolated, only in conversation with God. I would hope that another monk of the order would push me back toward the group.

If I were a bird, I would be a lone crow, content to sit in a tree of my own choosing, lining my nest with shiny, pretty things like broken bits of mirror and cellophane candy wrappers. I would hope that the rest of the murder would cackle and caw, calling me back into the communal roosting tree for slumber at dusk.

If I were a tree, I would be a scrub pine, content to listen to the whistling of the mountain wind, its whispers full of songs for me to remember. I would hope that my cones would produce other small pines nearby or that gray jays would nest in my branches.

If I were a book, I would be filled with few, well-chosen words, bound by wide margins, by the white space of a page. I would hope that I would be read, well-loved enough to be opened again and again.

If I were...