One night in LA we took a Lift car home from our last event. You guys know the one, the car service with the pink mustache? Our driver’s name was Duke, a cordial middle aged man, nice car and prompt pick up. In the car he mentioned that he was from New York. As we continue down the road I ask him what brought him to the West Coast, what made him leave New York?
Well, his story starts out with him saying that he used to keep a baseball bat in his car, and he used to use it, regularly. He talked about what could only be called repeated incidents of road rage when other drivers cut him off, or took his parking spot. Apparently he also kept an ice pick in his driver side door. He said “and I know how many spare tires you got.” to the guy who allegedly “took” “his” place, “he could just stay there a while, you know what i mean?”
So we are driving along the road with this man who is very open about himself and his past, but the more he spoke, the more he became a sympathetic character. He talked about his kids, and his wife, how he got shot during a home robbery trying to protect his wife. He narrowly escaped paralysis, while his wife was 6 months pregnant with their last child.
This story makes me think about the narratives we have about ourselves. What is our lived experience? How do the stories we tell about these experiences make us who we are? Do we tell only the good side, hoping that strangers will see us in a good light? Or do we paint a negative picture to test other people’s tolerance? How does the narrative change the way we remember events, do we forget the things that don’t fit the story? Once I read about how easy it is to change the memories of children who were suspected of being molested. If asked enough questions in a certain vein, children would tell a story of molestation and abuse, actually re-wiring mental pathways so the story in their head fit the outside narrative.
I don’t think Duke was particularly aware of how he came off to me, a Californian, quick to say something nice and friendly lest I be taken poorly without an overt show of friendliness. But how does that come off? more than one time I’ve heard non-Californians complain about the lack of sincerity of the California “gushing” “how ARE you?, you are SO pretty!” to us the overt display of compliments and insincerity is an informal dance, a way to seem nice rather than show our actual feelings. I hate the fact that our “customer service” attitude in California is seen as insincere, but I have to admit that it performs more a ceremonial role in relationship forming than is an actual heartfelt thing.
I only hope for 2 things. 1, that people are semi-tolerant of first impressions, and don’t get turned off immediately by the ceremony and 2, that maybe we can learn someday to be as open and frank as Duke, be able to present the world with the things that we’ve changed in ourselves that we didn’t like, and stop hiding behind the plastic surgery of ceremony.
