Perception

If you’ve read my blog before, you may know that I’m an avid knitter. Not the most common hobby for a teenage male in America, but not the most absurd I’ve ever heard of either. I’d like to write tonight about self-perception, and I hope I’ll be able to explain how that ties into knitting momentarily.

People have certain beliefs about themselves that define who they are. These beliefs aren’t quite so complex as you’d imagine either. I think that I define myself primarily in two ways: statements of being, and statements of exclusion. For example: I do not like mushrooms. I like Star Wars.

Or, on a deeper level: I am alone. I am not good with people.

During this whole “college experience” I’ve begun noticing and testing certain of these statements about myself, and I’ve discovered that a surprising number of them are false. For instance, I do actually like mushrooms. I’d managed to talk myself into hating them for several years, but they’re pretty darn good.

I’ve gone through many hobbies in my teens, of which making chain mail armor and being a blacksmith stand out most prominently in my memory. As far as hobbies go, they’re pretty cool, and they weigh in pretty nicely on the manliness scale.

Problem is, I like knitting more.

Even though I’ve yearned to be a blacksmith since I was a kid reading fantasy books for the first time, it turns out that I might not be cut out for it. I’ve learned a lot from it, but I don’t love it and I’m not very good at it. If I worked hard at it I probably could become so, but why should I? I have something cheaper, more portable, and more useful that I enjoy more.

Even though knitting has all of that going for it, I’ve really wanted to abandon it in favor of being a blacksmith. Why? Recently, I figured it out: I wanted to be perceived as manly, and I didn’t want to accept that I am a knitter. I didn’t want to add that to my perception of myself because it didn’t strike me as being as “cool” as my other hobbies, even though knitting makes me happier.

I think I’ve safely navigated the waters of that identity crisis by now, but it’s still something that bears thinking about. Are there other aspects of myself about which I’m in denial?

I think that this might be a useful way of thinking about characterization for the purposes of writing too. Real people struggle with simple truths about themselves, so shouldn’t characters too? Perhaps I sense that short story in the works…?

Today’s First Sentence: I didn’t want to accept it, but the testament of the blood on my hands and the memories seared into my brain forced me to concede: I was a murderer.