There is one question every child in this and many other countries is asked: What do you want to be when you grow up? Many of us are asked this question more than once. I can remember the first time I was asked this question by my kindergarten teacher. My response was immediate, certain, and emphatic: I want to be an astronaut.
My other classmates were just as sure of their fantasies as they replied that they wanted to be doctors, police officers, firemen, actresses, or rock stars. In that time of naïve innocence, all of us think about becoming what we may dream of without any regard to all of the other things that life entails or how hard we must work to make these fantasies come to life. Our equation was simple: We simply wanted and expected to become our fantasy.
As we grew older and gained a more firm grasp on who we thought ourselves to be and experienced more of this thing called life, our fantasy lives changed to things more practical and we began to take steps in the direction needed to make the fantasy real. By fifth grade, I wanted to become a teacher. I liked the idea of being able to share my knowledge and wisdom with others in a way that would help them. Though the desire to be a teacher was more firm than my earlier desire to go to space, my dream of becoming a teacher lacked one important thing. It lacked the knowledge of what life is really about, and anticipation of all the obstacles that would come between me and my dream. Nevertheless I never lost sight of the dream as I entered puberty and then high school.
Then life as I knew it fell apart and I began my cycle of self-destruction.
Unless I am able to find some legal loophole, my attempted homicide conviction has put an end to my dream of becoming a teacher. I still want to teach, and am in fact a teacher in prison. I once held an institutional work assignment tutoring students for their GED, and I recently held a job tutoring the international Computer Driver’s License class here in my facility. Now I unofficially tutor individuals willing to pay for instruction on obtaining their GED, adult basic education, building maintenance, automobile repair, HVAC-R, music theory, guitar playing, and bass guitar playing. Though I enjoy doing it, my dream of teaching is far different from the tutoring I actually do.
Since coming to prison, I have had many different dreams for my life once I am released. Being in prison, there is a lot of time to think about things like that if you care to. I was going to own a large-scale building maintenance company, contracting to do industrial and commercial business. I was going to become a studio musician, able to play all modern rock music instruments. I was going to be a landscape architect, designing real estate subdivisions. I was going to make money in the stock market. I was going to build custom cars and motorcycles. I was going to be a tattoo artist, and I was going to write fantasy novels for a living.
Every dream was career-oriented. There was little room for anything else that one dreams about in life until after I made one of those dreams real. Over the years, I have taken every available step to gain enough knowledge in each area that I have mentioned to make any one of those dreams a realistic possibility, dependent on the opportunities that may present themselves to me at a particular time.
Real life, however, was still an afterthought, and given little weight in my pursuit to eventually live a successful life.
Everybody experiences dreams of success during their early adult lives. For most of these people, securing their dream career is their number one priority. But once the dreamer experiences a little financial independence, life somehow gets in the way and he often falls victim to just going with the flow. Falling in love, having children, the cost of living, and a host of other things quickly push us in different directions and change our dreams and priorities. We realize we may still have success in life, but we find that what makes us successful is not what we originally set out to accomplish.
What makes for a successful life? I have come to realize that the answer to that question is really simple. Life is successful if when you are in your final years you are satisfied with everything you have done to the point that it brings you happiness. If when you die, you die with a smile on your face, you have lead a successful life.
Life is about finding happiness. Amazingly, it was a man who will never have a chance to realize his dreams that revealed it to me. Over the course of four years we had many conversations about life and it was the fact that he was well on his way to happiness before a bad decision ruined it that showed me the importance of what life is about.
Most people in prison never think about their childhood dreams, nor do they ever realize or even care to know about what life is really about. They are true sociopaths, showing concern only for themselves, living in the moment, acting on impulse, seeking instant gratification, and have no concern for anything beyond the NOW. They do not think too far ahead in life and do not care about the consequences of their actions.
Some even consider coming to prison a small price they have to pay for the life they lead outside of prison. They define success in terms of money, fame, or social status. They care only for the things they have in their possession right now, and if something like a child comes into their life, it is considered a burden because it gets in the way of what they really want.
Ironically, it is the people who will never leave the confines of prison that have a true grasp on this reality. Over time they realize what they have thrown away and attempt to find a way to seek happiness in their situation, and to give the life they now have real meaning. They pursue religion, education, charity, and they try to help people like me find the right path. They seek to do anything and everything that may bring them a sense of accomplishment and joy.
Today, I find I can relate to them better than the other inmates, the ones just passing through, and I hold myself apart from the far majority of inmates, because, as obnoxious as this may sound, I do consider myself to be different from and better than them.
Once again, my dreams have changed. I am no longer so focused on the career aspect of my life. I do think about it and have an idea of what I would like to spend my life doing in order to support myself, but it no longer holds too much importance in the grand scheme of things. I no longer care about how much money I make, as long as it is enough to get by without a struggle. I don’t think about finding or building a dream home or fancy car. I do have a strong desire to help troubled teens, as I once was, before they end up in same situation that I have, fighting to find a way to live my dreams.
All of that, however, is secondary to me. If I can make any or all of that happen in my life it will be a bonus. My ultimate happiness will be found in being a loving husband and father, devoted to making the dreams of my wife and children come true. I want to be able to provide for the needs of my family and experience the love and the wonder, the good and the bad, the easy and the hard, all of the aspects of family life.
No candle can shine next to that. If I can make that dream a reality, I will die a happy man.
The next time someone asks me what I want to be in life my response will be as immediate, as certain, and said with more emphasis and enthusiasm than it was when I was in kindergarten: I want to be a family man, nothing more, and nothing less.
Thursday, February 25, 2010
Friday, February 5, 2010
The Masks We Wear
All of us wear masks disguising our true selves from time to time. We don these masks to protect our vulnerabilities from being exposed and to control how we are perceived by others. What mask we wear depends on when we must don it and who we must don it for.
A normal adult will wear three different masks throughout the day: a mask covering his vulnerabilities when his family is depending on him; a mask hiding character flaws and personal demons when around the general public; and a mask controlling the perception of his friends and co-workers. Sometimes a person will don a mask meant to fool himself during times of personal turmoil, fear, and uncertainty. In most cases, there is a firm border separating when each mask is to be donned.
In society, these masks do not define who a person really is—they simply emphasize and exaggerate various parts of his personal character while minimizing or hiding others. This is and example of the cliché “You can’t judge a book by its cover.” In all but the closest of personal relationships, however, the “cover’ is all that is available for this judging; for to expose what lies beneath puts a person at a disadvantage to others by allowing vulnerabilities to be witnessed. In a relationship with a large amount of comfort and trust, these masks come off and true character can be shown freely without consequence. The strength of a relationship and the definition of a person’s character depends on this.
In prison the masks never come off and the border that separates these masks is not well-defined. Vulnerability and weakness can never be exposed because there is always someone waiting to prey on it. We hurt, yet cannot cry. We fear, yet cannot run. We smile, yet are not happy. We feel sad and weak, yet stand firm against it, feigning acceptance and strength. We feel hopeless and empty, yet march forward ever searching for that light at the end of the tunnel. We hear the words of comfort from our friends and family and thank them for “being there” for us, yet we still feel alone. We feel guilt for the things we must do to preserve our minds and bodies, yet we can show no remorse or regret.
We hide our pain from our friends and families and each other. We disguise our vulnerability and weakness with hardened, desensitized emotions, anger, and arrogance. We play “model inmate” for the prison staff and “Mr. Badass” for the other inmates. We bury our hopes, fears, and dreams, and replace it with numbness.
These are the masks we wear in prison. These are the masks that never come off.
Never being able to shed these masks is not without consequence. The mask worn most often tends to dominate, and incorporate the others into one convoluted, complex, tumultuous, interwoven and conflicted personality; no more lines, no more borders, no more definition, just chaos and confusion.
We even have a mask to hide that from everyone, including ourselves.
Given enough time in the prison environment, this giant mixed-up mask being worn constantly tends to supplant who we really are. First it blurs the line between who we really are and who we have to be to survive. Eventually, no matter how hard we struggle against it, we lose ourselves to the confusion. The mask dominates and defines us; we literally become what the mask represented. Once lost, it is all but impossible to find ourselves again in this environment.
When I first came to prison at age 17, I put on a mask out of the necessity for survival. I adopted the role of a tough, emotionless, somewhat crazed, violent criminal. I made other inmates see me as a person to be feared and respected, someone who did not care about the consequences of his actions, someone you did not make angry. They also witnessed an intelligence exceeding that of most criminals; one that was cunning and devious. I wore an air of confidence, sometimes downright arrogance, that bordered on egomania.
I also donned a mask meant to deceive those who have direct control over my life; correctional officers, counselors, unit managers, prison administration. They see a hard-working, polite, calm, intelligent, and respected young man who has been completely reformed, deserving a second chance at life.
For my family and friends, they did see some of the truth. I was growing and trying to become a better person even though I could not show it to anyone else. Even so, I hid from them the reality of my life in prison and the things I had to do in that life. They’ve seen me smiling in the visiting room and heard a brightness and situational acceptance in the tone of my letters even though I felt hollow, depressed, and angry about my situation.
I am now facing the consequences of never shedding those masks. They have blended into one and, at some point, I have lost myself. I have let myself become a hardened convict. Until quite recently, I felt no fear, shed no tears, felt no love, felt no real emotion. I was righteous in my anger and my justice. There was no vulnerability in my defenses or weakness in my armor. I could play hardened convict and model inmate at the same time, then flip a switch and become that happy, caring person my friends knew me as. The penitentiary had defined me as a person. I didn’t even realize it.
Over the last two and a half years, as I get closer and closer to my minimum, things are changing. My friend Laura has been busy chipping away at my armor, and that has allowed me to dream again about what I want for my life. When she visits, she takes pieces of my mask off, and I am able to feel again. The smiles she brings out are of genuine happiness. When she leaves, though, the mask would go back on--cracked, but whole.
The recent crisis between my oldest friends completely shattered the mask that Laura had cracked. There were tears, pain, fear, and love, all of the emotions I haven’t felt in a very long time. There was also a realization of how lost I had become and how much pride I took in being that penitentiary-bred avatar.
It disgusted me.
Becoming aware that there was no longer a separation between who I am and the mask I wear was the first step in finding the answers to the questions I need to ask and answer to find the way back to myself. It is the beginning of the unification of who I am with who I want to be.
Though the original mask has been shattered, I must still wear a mask to protect myself as I cannot escape my environment. However with the help of my friends, it will not define my character and I will never become so dissociated from reality again.
With my friends to guide me, I will ultimately figure out who I want to be and no longer walk blind in the search for definition.
I am on my way.
A normal adult will wear three different masks throughout the day: a mask covering his vulnerabilities when his family is depending on him; a mask hiding character flaws and personal demons when around the general public; and a mask controlling the perception of his friends and co-workers. Sometimes a person will don a mask meant to fool himself during times of personal turmoil, fear, and uncertainty. In most cases, there is a firm border separating when each mask is to be donned.
In society, these masks do not define who a person really is—they simply emphasize and exaggerate various parts of his personal character while minimizing or hiding others. This is and example of the cliché “You can’t judge a book by its cover.” In all but the closest of personal relationships, however, the “cover’ is all that is available for this judging; for to expose what lies beneath puts a person at a disadvantage to others by allowing vulnerabilities to be witnessed. In a relationship with a large amount of comfort and trust, these masks come off and true character can be shown freely without consequence. The strength of a relationship and the definition of a person’s character depends on this.
In prison the masks never come off and the border that separates these masks is not well-defined. Vulnerability and weakness can never be exposed because there is always someone waiting to prey on it. We hurt, yet cannot cry. We fear, yet cannot run. We smile, yet are not happy. We feel sad and weak, yet stand firm against it, feigning acceptance and strength. We feel hopeless and empty, yet march forward ever searching for that light at the end of the tunnel. We hear the words of comfort from our friends and family and thank them for “being there” for us, yet we still feel alone. We feel guilt for the things we must do to preserve our minds and bodies, yet we can show no remorse or regret.
We hide our pain from our friends and families and each other. We disguise our vulnerability and weakness with hardened, desensitized emotions, anger, and arrogance. We play “model inmate” for the prison staff and “Mr. Badass” for the other inmates. We bury our hopes, fears, and dreams, and replace it with numbness.
These are the masks we wear in prison. These are the masks that never come off.
Never being able to shed these masks is not without consequence. The mask worn most often tends to dominate, and incorporate the others into one convoluted, complex, tumultuous, interwoven and conflicted personality; no more lines, no more borders, no more definition, just chaos and confusion.
We even have a mask to hide that from everyone, including ourselves.
Given enough time in the prison environment, this giant mixed-up mask being worn constantly tends to supplant who we really are. First it blurs the line between who we really are and who we have to be to survive. Eventually, no matter how hard we struggle against it, we lose ourselves to the confusion. The mask dominates and defines us; we literally become what the mask represented. Once lost, it is all but impossible to find ourselves again in this environment.
When I first came to prison at age 17, I put on a mask out of the necessity for survival. I adopted the role of a tough, emotionless, somewhat crazed, violent criminal. I made other inmates see me as a person to be feared and respected, someone who did not care about the consequences of his actions, someone you did not make angry. They also witnessed an intelligence exceeding that of most criminals; one that was cunning and devious. I wore an air of confidence, sometimes downright arrogance, that bordered on egomania.
I also donned a mask meant to deceive those who have direct control over my life; correctional officers, counselors, unit managers, prison administration. They see a hard-working, polite, calm, intelligent, and respected young man who has been completely reformed, deserving a second chance at life.
For my family and friends, they did see some of the truth. I was growing and trying to become a better person even though I could not show it to anyone else. Even so, I hid from them the reality of my life in prison and the things I had to do in that life. They’ve seen me smiling in the visiting room and heard a brightness and situational acceptance in the tone of my letters even though I felt hollow, depressed, and angry about my situation.
I am now facing the consequences of never shedding those masks. They have blended into one and, at some point, I have lost myself. I have let myself become a hardened convict. Until quite recently, I felt no fear, shed no tears, felt no love, felt no real emotion. I was righteous in my anger and my justice. There was no vulnerability in my defenses or weakness in my armor. I could play hardened convict and model inmate at the same time, then flip a switch and become that happy, caring person my friends knew me as. The penitentiary had defined me as a person. I didn’t even realize it.
Over the last two and a half years, as I get closer and closer to my minimum, things are changing. My friend Laura has been busy chipping away at my armor, and that has allowed me to dream again about what I want for my life. When she visits, she takes pieces of my mask off, and I am able to feel again. The smiles she brings out are of genuine happiness. When she leaves, though, the mask would go back on--cracked, but whole.
The recent crisis between my oldest friends completely shattered the mask that Laura had cracked. There were tears, pain, fear, and love, all of the emotions I haven’t felt in a very long time. There was also a realization of how lost I had become and how much pride I took in being that penitentiary-bred avatar.
It disgusted me.
Becoming aware that there was no longer a separation between who I am and the mask I wear was the first step in finding the answers to the questions I need to ask and answer to find the way back to myself. It is the beginning of the unification of who I am with who I want to be.
Though the original mask has been shattered, I must still wear a mask to protect myself as I cannot escape my environment. However with the help of my friends, it will not define my character and I will never become so dissociated from reality again.
With my friends to guide me, I will ultimately figure out who I want to be and no longer walk blind in the search for definition.
I am on my way.
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