One day I was chatting pleasantly with some work friends, and I mentioned how much I loved being able to bike to work in the mornings.
One of my fellow workers whirled on me, angry, “I can’t bike to work! I have too much to do and it’s a lot of work and anyway I live too far away! How dare you pressure me!”
And I gaped, because I’d said nothing about anyone else biking? But they went on, “I hate how people are always demanding MORE of me. I do all I can!”
Why would my casual acquaintance assume I’d brought up an activity I enjoy just to shame them? I shook my head and inwardly thought, “Thou protesteth too much – this pressure is coming from inside.”
But then I do this, too. Last week, I was camping with a large group, and I wandered into the main relaxing area self-narrating, “I was just [doing helpful task] this is just a break. Later I’ll do more.” (I honestly don’t remember what it was – cleaning something?)
And one of my campmates smirked at me and said, “Uh… no one’s tracking your hours. This is a vacation?”
But I had felt that my camp-mates might be judging me for sitting around even though… we were all sitting around. It was hot!
It’s natural to be always on the lookout for other’s good opinion of oneself, and it’s also natural that we tend to over-estimate the level of scrutiny.
When I get too worried about how others are perceiving me, I remember the mirror at the goth club.
There’s a goth club in Cleveland – The Chamber – still there! I checked! On Detroit Road.
Anyway, I remember vividly my first trip there. I was so excited and nervous! Did I even belong? Was I “goth enough”? I fussed over my mostly-good-will wardrobe for hours picking out exactly what to wear. I had one good black mini-skirt. I borrowed a corset. I cut up a t-shirt into rags and safety-pinned them to the skirt to make it “gothier”. I bought fishnets. I asked a friend to teach me to do eye-liner. I did and re-did my hair. I didn’t have any shoes other than sneakers, so I borrowed heavy black boots from a friend.
And I got to the club, and I saw this big mirror along one side of the dancefloor. I looked at myself. “Okay,” I thought, “I actually look darn cute.” I started dancing and looked to see what the other dancers were looking at… if they noticed me, if they cared.
Friends, every single pair of eyes in that club was on that mirror, on their own reflection. One person was even up against the mirror, alone, so that their self-absorption had no danger of interruption.
It was not the first time I’d noticed that people are really more worried about themselves than me, but it was the most… visual representation of it. Kids, I coulda worn jeans and a plain white tee for all the eyes my mini skirt and fishnets drew.
Look, I have been THAT GIRL. I sat in the back of an SCA event once with my sister and we snarked about the “bad garb”. “OMG, does she think that looks good? Her tits are hanging out.”
Someone slightly older over-heard us and gently admonished, “Now, she looks like she’s enjoying herself. In her mind she does look good, and isn’t that what matters?”
I felt chagrined… and maybe a little robbed of the power I’d just discovered in myself, this power to be RIGHT. I was a teen-ager. It happens.
But that level of judgement … I can recall it exactly… and here’s the thing… to even do that level of judging, you don’t see the other person as a person. They are just a set of behaviors or styles to set up against yourself.
They are a mirror in a goth club. If your eyes move off of yourself, it is only to see if anyone else’s outfit is better.
SO.
Me, you, everyone: no one is judging us. At least not that much. And the ones who are? They don’t even really see us. I could not tell you the names or anything about the people whose garb I judged as a teen. I likely ended up friends with those people. We were in the same club, after all.
If we approach someone who judged us later, become friends… that moment of judgement won’t enter into it. We weren’t a person during that moment, and they likely won’t even remember.
So be free. And when you’re tempted to stare into the mirror… try turning your back on it. That’s what I did. I put myself near the mirror, with my back to it, and marveled at the feeling that everyone was intently watching me… or near me. I laughed, in charge, in control, queen of the goth club.
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