I’m not sure if this is a good thing or not. I’m not sure if I’m about to completely humiliate and embarass myself. Or (I hope) this is another one of those things that everyone else does but that we just don’t talk about.
No, not picking your nose…
I adapt who I am depending on who I am with.
The most obvious change is when I’m in a heavily alpha male environment, where I become a lot louder, more forceful and laddish (aka “non-politicially correct) behaviour is not only pushed to the fore but heavily encouraged and instigated.
In less intimidating surroundings I become the joker, eager to make people laugh, possibly eager to gain some level of acceptance (still not sure about that one) and tend to come off as confident, self-assured and a bit cheeky but likeable. Yes, it helps that I’m really REALLY cute.
Those ladies that have met me can feel free to back that claim up in the comments. Or not.
Not you though, Mother.
In the company of close friends I become a little more introspect, and probably closer to my true self. I have nothing to prove and I’m happy that my friends accept me and my faults, as I accept theirs. Although there is always the nagging feeling that they have fewer faults than I.
Then we get to the version of me that few have seen, only a select few are allowed through that door and even then I do tend to tidy up the first few times they visit. After that I tend to start to care less about the appearance back there and at that point you are as close to the true me as is possible.
Finally, there is me. The me only I see and consider, the me that thinks things but never utters them, the me that knows when to shut up and when to push forward. That version of me is ME. My core, my centre, my very being. I don’t understand that version of me all that well, I am still learning all of the foibles, fissures, and flaws that barely scratch the surface.
Oddly enough the older I get the happier I am to let that version of me exist as it wants, no longer do I try to sway and coax it towards the me I think I want to be for, as should be obvious by now, even I don’t know which version of me I want.
To say that there are distinct versions of me is, of course, complete nonsense. Instead the various traits can be found everywhere, manifesting themselves where they aren’t expected. The quiet version of me can still be loud and laddish, the cheeky version of me can be still and introspective.
There is no version of me, I am consistently flawed. Each version can be selfish and compassionate, thoughtless and kind, harsh and tender all at once. Each version breathes with the next, changes with each heartbeat, and remains mercilessly unaware. I am inconsistent, there is no version of me.