Veneer

I ran into a casual friend at a local wi-fi hotspot. The free internet there collects laptops like a porch light collects dead bugs, and that day was no exception. I sat across from my acquaintance and never even considered what he was feverishly pursuing on his computer. He looked embarrassed and confessed to me that he was playing a video game. As if I demanded an explanation, he told me how busy he was and how this was the only chance he had to unwind a bit. I didn't mind that he was squeezing in some downtime, but he certainly minded what I thought of it.

I find it interesting how consumed we can be with how others perceive us, particularly how careful we are in our appearance to total strangers. We suck in our gut, hide the laptop screen, and disguise an ugly mood with a smile for someone that simply walks by us--someone that we may never see again and wouldn't remember us if we did. Why do we care so much about people who may not give us more consideration than the color of the last doorknob they turned?

I think we all have an "ideal self" in mind. We might not have all the details worked out, but we've got a general image that we hope comes to mind when others think of us. Our primping and flaw hiding for the anonymous masses has less to do with them and more to do with us. We desperately want to be this "ideal self", so we try to strut it when we can. For ninety-three minutes on the plane, we can convince that guy from Milwaukee that we've got our lives sorted, assembled, and in effect. Be jealous, Mr. Cheesehead, very jealous. Until the wheels hit the tarmac, we can be that desirable person.

It's easy to varnish our veneer in public. We can walk poised until someone else passes us on the sidewalk, but few of us care about our posture on our living room couch. Why don't we try? Because everyone at home can call our bluff. They know who we really are, because that's who we are around them. Our inner children come out to whine, and they've blown our nose too many times to be fooled by any bravado we might muster. Our 'perfect face' would be a waste of time.

Showing passing strangers our peacock feathers can be intoxicating, especially if the interaction strokes with the grain of our image. But strengthening this outer shell does little to help our inner core--the part that connects with our ongoing relationships. It's easy to be perfect alone, but being a better person in relationships takes work. This kind of work could rarely be called "intoxicating". It involves honesty, messes, and apologies. It doesn't stroke our egos--it whips them into shape.

I enjoy the occasional nod from a stranger. It scratches an itch. But the reward of long-term relationships seems more important to me. That Packer fan on the plane might have thought I was fantastic for an hour conversation, but life is much longer than an hour. I hope I can be valued by the people that really matter to me--my family and friends. That's an image I hope to project through my veneer.