DRINKING/FUN/SATIRE/LIFE/BEHAVIOR

Last Night I Let Loose of Self-Curation, I Overdid it. Or Did I?

Generally, I’m careful not to expose myself to people I don’t know

I am not a drinker. I drink wine occasionally — diluted with ice cubes—mostly while dining out. My norm is one glass, and I’m good to go.

But not last night.

Last night, I had two glasses undiluted. When I woke up this morning with an uneasy itch in my brain, I asked my husband whether I said something stupid. He, of course, lovingly told me that I was perfect.

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So why do I feel I said something wrong? Better yet, why do I feel guilty for having a good time? It feels as if I broke out of my self-composure and behaved in all the ways I would scorn when others did.

If I remember correctly, I detoured from that finely curated image and said things I shouldn’t have. Or did I?

Generally, I’m careful not to expose myself to people I don’t know.

In an inebriated state, I threw self-editing to the wind and forgot to frame myself in a manner that one might curate a museum exhibition.

Is this a bad thing? The itch is still there.

Getting drunk offered the chance to abandon my curated self in preference for an unmediated, uninhibited one, if only for a couple of hours. The problem, of course, is that I wake up the following day in need of self-flagellation.

I would like to believe in an unself-conscious approach to life. But it may be that the curated self is no longer an option to ponder over. We live in a society where surveillance is everywhere, and curating is a way of life.

We all have an image of our better selves—of how we are at our best. We all have a picture of who we are and how we should behave as respectable citizens.

Are we not the architects, designers, and artists of our curated identity—much like stretching truth into fiction, the playground for the imagined self?

It’s akin to constantly posing for selfies that depict our most perfect selves, our perfect food and drink photos — the quest for images that have become the experience rather than self-authenticity.

Maybe my mind is deceiving me. And maybe being my authentic self needs no curation. Or I am who I am without covering up my true identity. Or I should nurture my individuality by being true to myself without the need to be better for others.

Maybe I need to tell my curated self to remember that hiding my vulnerabilities might expose them, anyway. After all, for every identity issue, I work hard to protect and hide telegraphs that I am afraid of showing. My mask will not protect me. At the same time, I want to be out there, but not too far out there.

The process of curating, or “cleaning up,” our lives for others to consume, is not new. From organizing the house for guests to arranging interesting books to have on shelves or pictures on the wall, to strategically arranging decorative pillows on the sofa — we have been “curating” our lives and spaces to display most of our existence on this earth.

Better yet, we can imagine who we want to be before becoming the person we put out for display. It’s not such a bad idea after all. A serial killer can imagine becoming an upstanding citizen. Imagining that can be motivation for the serial killer’s self-improvement.

I think I like this idea. I can look at myself in the mirror, decide I’m “good enough,” and not be blinded by the quest for impossible perfection.

We cultivate interests and hobbies to support and emphasize them in posts and when communicating with others. Nevertheless, these posts also leave out numerous faults and failings.

We have identities for each part of our lives. I’m a different person at home than at a social gathering. Similarly, I share different stories and use different language depending on where I am, what I’m doing, and who I’m interacting with.

It is hard to say we truly know someone. At best, we know the curated face offered to us. This may be a projection because I’m cautious about what I share about myself. So, I tend to be unconfident that I know someone unless I have spent a lot of time with them and engaged in relationship building that causes people to open up.

Last night was an exciting experience. We met a couple at an Italian restaurant. I met one of the couples a handful of times, and his other half was new to me. So, I was nervous, much like going on a first date and wanting to put my best foot forward. When I get nervous, I talk incessantly, all caused by the fear of silence between the sentences.

Am I that person?

It didn’t occur to me that I could focus on giving my best effort instead of trying to be liked. And my best effort last night — if I want to be honest with myself — was to brag about my accomplishments. At that moment, I was proud of myself and wanted to share it with two lovely people who knew little about me.

I always made it a point not to brag. I broke that rule.

You could say, rules, schmules! Rules are meant to be broken. No? Ok, most aren’t. I like the rule that keeps people from strolling into my house and rummaging through my drawers. I like rules that say people can’t walk around in public naked.

I count myself among those who accept introspection. This means that I have to make decisions, and the only way to move forward will be to discount or ignore self-doubt in favor of acceptance. No?

Truly yours, Henya!

❤️Now, go and seize the day.❤️