“Man was born for society. However little He may be attached to the World, He never can wholly forget it, or bear to be wholly forgotten by it."
--Matthew Gregory Lewis, The Monk
When you have been rejected, the worst place to be is in front of a mirror. It appears to be saying to you, "See, I was right."
But when you have been accepted, the mirror appears to be saying the same thing.
So, is the problem with us, or the mirror?
Well, it can be both, because when we're not in front of the mirror, we start turning other people into mirrors (I use the word "we" in place of "our human tendency"). When we feel low, we assume that others are looking at us full of criticism. When we feel confident, we're certain that they deserve us. Or we look to them for reassurance that what we feel anxious about, regarding ourselves, isn't the case.
Does that person look at me with frustration or disappointment? Quick, let me look to someone else to see admiration and esteem. There is an exhausting round of facades and reflections in this state of fear and resentment. We are also exhausted with trying to reassure others that we are who they want us to be, so that we won't experience further rejection. Quick, change the mask. In this mode, all that can be hoped for is that we become a quick-change artist, because other people with hopes and expectations are going to show up.
To see a literal enactment of what this life is like, I highly recommend a film called "The King of Masks". It comes from China, where the art of mask-making is sublime-- horrifying and beautiful all at once. I like that it also includes the theme of child adoption, because often, acceptance means adopting a role, in order to please and earn one's keep, or more worrisome, to secure one's sense of worth.
Here is a six minute scene of a performer in China. Hang with it, because the pace picks up toward the end, and we do finally get to see his face. I love the way the music hits a triumphant crescendo when he is revealed. He does appear to be a Master of Mask Changing, yet the tall fire-breathing figure that is raised above all of the performers at the end, unsettles me. It seems like it has something to say about all of this performance, in addition to being a final spectacle.
Here is Roger Ebert's review of the King of Masks.
The desire to be free of this endless whirling is in conflict with our fear of losing what we have been striving to keep-- the acceptance of ourselves and the feeling of acceptance by others. We don't want to lose the very people we're tired of pleasing and disappointing. We worry that without them, without their demands and approval, we would find ourselves to be empty and worthless. Emergence of the truth of who we are, when left alone, can be a terrifying prospect.
Without expectations, and left to my own devices, who am I? Do I truly have worth apart from what I can do for people? If what I can do is not enough for them, then do my actions have value? When is enough ever enough? Why does it feel that the world's appetite for my efforts will never cease, while also feeling that the world is ready to spit me out when I strive valiantly?
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