A More Useful Me, To Me

           I asked myself, “When have I been manipulated?” Out of impulsive arrogance, I asserted, “Constantly, like everyone, but I have had the creativity and volition to consistently enjoy my lot, nevertheless.”

Truly, I had narrated my story in order to support my aggrandized self-image: I brazenly ignored the six years I played piano against my will, the six years I did swim team without any interest in pools (and only a slightly mollifying interest in speedo-wearing), and the four years I wrestled (wrestling is objectively terrible). Sixteen years of torturous manipulation burst into my mind, refuting my ill-formed assumption.

Humbled, I wondered, “Why didn’t I break free of these patterns?” I will take up the piano example here, and see if it can elucidate my propensity to stick with certain unhappy behaviors.

My parents denied cable television to my brothers and myself for all the years other kids watched Spongebob (so many references missed). At last, they decreed that if each brother played piano for a year, we could modernize our channel package. Adam and Matt served their time and quit, I played with Marsha every week until the start of high school.

I never practiced. I always felt inscrutably compelled to “stay with it”, but as a result, I resented the instrument I never chose, and sabotaged my progress. Ultimately, my small rebellion was worse than futile, because the impending knock on the door each Wednesday so stressed the unprepared young Dan that he desperately hoped she would get in another car accident (an alarmingly common occurrence for Marsha).

But what compelled me? I would picture my mother, crestfallen, hearing the news that her “musical son” had quit piano (mom was actually entirely supportive when I finally quit). Or I would envision Marsha, who was astoundingly gregarious and kind, crying over the loss of my company, and fretting over losing more business from the Farinas. Over the years of playing piano, an increasingly robust piano playing identity was built around me (in my head) by my sense of others’ perceptions and emotions.

I have always understood myself to be the synthesis of my and other people’s beliefs about who I am. Therefore, I became a piano player, and not only was part of my sense of self on the line, were I to quit, but I worried I would let others down by destroying the Dan they were happy with.

I was manipulated by my notions of what people I loved and respected needed from me, including myself. I was paralyzed by the potential ramifications of altering my identity.

I don’t think any of these grand “manipulations” were caused by a conscious puppet-master. Truly, I have been the greatest enemy of my agency: I and people want me to be who I am, and I tend to lock myself in that identity, even sometimes when it outlasts its use.