The Nature of Individuality (Real versus Contrived) on the Internet and beyond

So it's 2:30AM and I'm unable to sleep because I feel like I have ideas itching to get out of my head and onto some tangible format where I can read it/share with others. Please forgive the rambling if it gets to be too much. Or don't, in fact, since they're my thoughts, why do I feel a need to apologize for the fact that it may not be condensed into "tweet" length?

Ever since I was young, I was told I was an individual, and that being an individual was a valuable thing, to be guarded carefully and to be proud of. Yet I can't help but feel like the older I get, the more and more society is becoming homogeneous. Maybe it's globalization, or social networking, or pop culture, but I find that fewer and fewer people are individuals.

When I moved from elementary to "middle" school (I still call it Grade 7-8) only 1 other person from my elementary school went to the same place. It was a chance to "reinvent" myself, and yet, it just didn't work. I was still me, the same person I was before, and while I may have made a few concessions (giving up sweat pants and juice boxes) towards being less 'geeky', I don't think I changed who I was all that much (although in reality I probably was very different, but just nothing that I was consciously doing was in aid of being different or 'fitting in'). By no means was I the popular kid, but nor was I a huge dweeb and unpopular (though I probably was).

I managed to have my first few girlfriends (though a few weeks of 'dating' really doesn't seem like much in hindsight 15+ yrs later), hear a whole bunch of new music that I'd never been exposed to before, and learn a lot more about who I was, and how much I did (or in my case, didn't) care about what others thought of me. Of course there were times when something would happen and I'd wonder why some particular girl didn't like me (she probably liked me, but didn't like like me, a distinction I had trouble making up until my early 20s if I'm being completely honest), but for the most part, those times were few and far between.

The times when I felt like I didn't fit in were times when my parents were very helpful, and contrary to the usual way things go, I actually appreciated my parents quite a bit as a teenager (other than the need of my mother to make everything herself instead of buying it - a trait I now admire instead of mock - and of my father to try and get a deal instead of paying the full asking price - something I was once embarrassed by that I now try to emulate myself). They made it abundantly clear to me that I was unique, and that for the mostpart, if all the kids at school liked "x" and I liked "y" that was perfectly normal. Looking back, I think that may have been THE single most valuable thing they ever did for me.

Grade 7-8 came to a close, and onto High School, which wasn't such a big step since 7-8 had been in the actual high school, and practically on Queen's Campus. (It's true, from the start of Grade 7 until the end of 4th Year, my classes were in a 2 square block radius). Grade 9 had a few more attempts to fit in, or normalize, which were entirely useless at making me enjoy school any more at all. I had friends, and acquaintances, but the vast majority of the time, I simply went, did my best on the classwork, and was out the door as soon as possible.

It wasn't until Grade 10-11 that I finally felt like I was who I was, and there was no more need to try and be somebody else, or fit some kind of theoretical mold of what I was supposed to be like. I was there, I knew just about everyone by name, and maybe a little bit about most of the people, but somehow kind of floated between the groups and cliques. I knew some jocks, some nerds, some preps, (or whatever the KCVI equivalent was - Rowers I guess?) drama types, and so on. But I certainly never associated myself with one group over the others. I think it's because of this that I never had a problem being who I was, having my own opinions, expressing them, and being rather happy with who I was and feeling that I was rather self-aware.

Moving onto university, I was a fairly well formed version of who I am today, albeit with some major experiences along the way. In university I felt like I was who I was, and wasn't trying to be anyone else. That isn't to say that sometimes I followed what someone else did, or thought 'hey I'm going to do what he's doing', but for the mostpart, I think I stuck to my own individuality. Obviously some moments of self-doubt and insecurity crept in, but most of the time, I'd talk it out with friends or just realise, I didn't give a flying fuck what someone thought of me if they didn't like me or had a completely skewed sense of who I was.

By the time graduation rolled along, I was confident in the person I was, and while there have been shifts and changes along the way, the person from then strongly resembles the one who's writing this manifesto of whatever it is.

The only time I really succumbed to the self-doubt and loss of assuredness was once I got onto Facebook. All of a sudden I was adding people to my list just because I knew them briefly, or went to school with them at some point, or had had interactions with them. I found myself wanting people to know who I knew, what I had done, what I thought was cool, and all the rest of it.

Wait a minute...something's wrong here...why do I care what someone who I had Grade 10 Geography with thinks of my friend list or my choice in Movies or Music?
Why am I feeling lowered self worth or need for reassurance when someone from Elementary school or camp doesn't respond to my message or wall post?
Why am I doing stupid quizzes and hoping that my answer makes me cooler in the eyes of someone I never had more than 15 minutes conversation with in 5 years of High School or 4 years of university?

It amazed me how in the span of 6 weeks I'd gone from not even having facebook, to letting it have such an impact on me. If someone disagreed with something I said or wrote or took it out of context, I'd be sad or upset and it would linger. I had a list of "Friends" that was nearing 300 people, yet the number I'd been out for a drink with or had a meaningful conversation with was a fraction of that number. I found myself doing things like not putting a movie on my favourites list because someone might see it and think I was a loser or something. Or writing a reply to someone's posting on something, and then editing it to sound better (something which exists in all online interactions I believe, from email to IM to chatting, to social networking).

I wasn't aware of it at first, but then it started to dawn on me...Facebook had taken me back to Grade 7-9! I was trying to get approval from people who I thought needed to like me...yet they were supposedly "friends", and of course your friends like you regardless. Something was seriously wrong with this...I think I'd have been much happier calling the 300 on my list "acquaintances" with a smaller portion as "friends". I was always someone who believed that having a few close very good friends was far more important than having a bunch of casual friends. Those were acquaintances to me; the people in High School I knew, and would say hi to, but wouldn't go camping with or out for a pint with. The friends were fewer in number but much more important. I had to remember, not everyone was going to be your best friend, and someone you were close with in grade 5 or 11 was someone you might not know at all now, or even like.

Eventually I realized what I had done, devolving into a teenaged mindset, seeking approval unknowingly from all these people, some of whom I barely knew. That's when I thought forget this, I don't care what 280 or so people think of me, I'm me and that's that. I went through my list with a heavy hand on the delete button, and after the initial feeling of worth from having so many "friends" dissipated, I felt better getting rid of people from that list that I didn't communicate with, or particularly like, or want to get to know, or have anything in common with anymore (or hadn't had at any time).

Now I have no problem posting what I want and not giving a shit what anyone thinks of it. I have to live with me, so if I'm good with me, and it's not hurting anyone else, then great.

But here's the problem: I don't think what I experienced is uncommon. I think this is much more common a problem than people may be aware of. I was also fortunate in not having to deal with facebook until I was 27 years old. I cannot imagine what it must be like for kids growing up trying to find their own unique identities while being on a facebook or twitter or some other online site. I think as humans we all have a desire to be liked by as many people as possible, and we might do things to be more liked that aren't exactly in tune with who we really are as people.

I know much has been written about this, and I think it's agreed upon that many people construct the individual that they want others to think they are, or that they think others will like. This may be OK with teeny things (like not admitting you love My Little Pony or something) but can be dangerous when you deny who you really are, or have to live your life according to a character (or caricature I should say) you've created of yourself. I should also be clear, that when it comes to the majority, I'm lucky enough to have been encouraged to be myself, the unique individual I am, and not everyone is that lucky or fortunate; nor do people have belief in themselves, and many struggle their whole lives with the problem.

I also think it might be easier for me to avoid that, or be aware of it, because I feel I have a very good knowledge of the self, and know when I'm not being true to who I am. It also helps a bunch that I don't respect social convention on many accounts, and feel that tact can be a hinderance, rather than a helpful guide in life. (this may also explain some of the issues I've come up against, but that's OK, I made my tactless bed, and I have to sleep in it).

So, summing up I suppose, I'm going to continue to make a concerted effort to be Gavin, the real one who people know, and not some constructed, idealized version of myself. I do like some really shitty movies, I do think a lot of people are assholes, and I do have a realist (some say pessimist) outlook many days. But I'm also very happy with who I am, I'm happy with the life I lead (I'd love a bit more $$ but then again, who wouldn't? If only for the freedom it offers) and I don't feel the need to justify myself to anyone. Therefore, I guess I don't need to expound on whether or not having a blog is egotistical, lame, or completely normal, and simply a great outlet for writing, which I wouldn't otherwise have.

So finally, that's up to you, to decide if you want to read this, if you want to comment on it, if it will change your opinion of me, one way or another, or whatever. All I know is, I'm glad that I figured out what I was doing before it became a huge problem, and I hope other people are self-aware enough to notice if it's becoming/is an issue for them.

And if you made it this far, I promise the next entry will be something about music. Because I like music and writing about music far more than this rambling garbage, but I had to get it out of my system and I'll be curious to see if anyone feels similarly ( but I won't change my opinion even if no one does).

Until next time, Gavin will Return in: Thunderball.

127 Hours - James Franco, have you arrived? [SPOILER ALERT]

The second half of my Toonie Tuesday Double Feature was Danny Boyle's 127 Hours. This film tells the true story of Aron Ralston, a climber and outdoor adventurer (much in the way I used to dream my life would be when I was 17 and wanting to be able to be outside the rest of my life).

Pretty straightforward: Aron goes out one weekend April 2003 canyoneering in Utah (Blue John Canyon), and during the course of his activities, a boulder came lose and crushed his right arm, pinning it to a rock.

I remember so clearly reading about this when it happened, and thinking how amazing it was, and in film form, it's just as amazing.

Aron made the one cardinal mistake you cannot make when you go into the backcountry: he didn't let anyone know where he was going. I'll be honest, in some instances I've done the same thing, but never on my own that far out.

Because no one knew he was there, no one knew he was missing and no one was looking for him.

James Franco has been given the role of a lifetime here, and he absolutely deserved his nomination for Best Actor. He's pretty much the only one in the movie, and the entire focus of the film is on him. To his credit, he thrives in the role. I could imagine many actors not being able to pull it off, so to see Franco do it, is a very rewarding experience.

This being a true story, you already know the ending, but the sign of a great film is when they can make the journey to that ending one that captures your emotions and has you completely invested in Aron and what's happening to him.

Time begins to pass as Aron realizes just how completely screwed he is. He goes through stages of anger, sadness, rage, acceptance, and the gamut between. Over the course of 5 days, you see him descend into delusions and hallucination, as he runs out of water and has to resort to drinking his own urine. You feel like you're there with him, and you're the one who has to do it or dehydrate and die.

One crucial scene has Aron on the cusp of a breakdown when he catches himself and repeats to himself "Don't lose it. Don't lose it."

When the realization sets in, Aron videotapes goodbyes to his family as we catch flashback glimpses to his life. These are gutwrenching and you feel the anguish he must've felt knowing that he'd likely never see his parents or anyone again.

Boyle has done a fantastic job directing, because I felt so invested in Aron, and I cared so much about him, and what he went through, and how he had to fight through everything before making the choice that I'm sure a majority of people wouldn't be able to.

The boulder isn't moving. He hasn't chipped it away with his multitool (NOT a Leatherman, but a no name piece of junk that he curses), so he finally rationalizes that in order to live, he must cut off his hand and get himself out or he will die. Unfortunately, the tool is too dull to saw or even break his skin. So he starts to carve his name and dates in the stone as a final marker for his resting place.

It seems as though he's given up and abandoned himself to his fate, when he hallucinates a child, his future son, and is renewed in his inner strength. At this time he just bends his arm so far that he snaps first one, and then the second, of his arm bones. What follows is VERY GRAPHIC, gory, and unsettling, but also crucial to the story. That he ACTUALLY cut off his own hand to free himself. The worst part is shown to be when he has to cut through a nerve and the pain is just excruciating to the point where I could feel my own arm in the theater hurting. (It was all in my head of course, but you know what I mean).

The moment when he finally detaches brings a sort of calm to things, when he actually realizes what it means; that he's free.

He bandages himself up as well as possible, packs up his stuff, offers a Thank You to above, and makes the labourious way out of the canyon.

When he makes it to a small pool and falls in for that drink, you're as happy for him as anything. Then when he takes off further, and can barely find his voice, screaming with nothing coming out (much like in dreams or nightmares), you're urging him on, willing his voice to cry out, and when he finally does cry for help and the hikers turn and come running, your spirit soars. When he takes the water down, when he gets 2 of the 3 hikers to run ahead so he can keep going, you will him to go on, and when he collapses, you worry, even though you know this can't be how it ends...finally, when it looks like Aron is losing consciousness, the helicopter comes around the bend and touches down, I'll be honest, I started crying.

This is a movie about the human spirit, and just how powerful it is. That usually sounds cheesy, but in this case, it's true. James Franco is fantastic, and I urge you all to see this film. If you enjoyed Into the Wild, think of this as a similar film with a happier ending.

This film doesn't need an Oscar, the fact that this actually happened, and Aron is still alive and thriving (with that son now) is more than enough proof in the victory of the human spirit, that Best Picture seems small and meaningless in comparison. I'm in super cheeze mode apparently, but this film really inspired me.