Strange, But Not a Stranger

I first read The Stranger by Albert Camus in the first semester of my freshman year in college. It was required reading for an Intro to World Religions class that I had signed up for. At the time it didn't mean much to me. I was just happy that at a little over 100 pages that it was a quick read. Later on that year I went to a party thrown by my friend Tony. After hanging out at the party a little bit, Tony said that he was sick of drinking the cheap beer in the keg and suggested that we head upstairs where he kept the good stuff. Up in his room, we drank bottled microbrew and discussed philosophy (me being a wise sage at eighteen years old). Tony asked if I had ever read The Stranger and I told him that I had but it didn't really make much of an impression on me. He then began to give me a drunken discourse on early 20th century existentialism that was honestly far more informative than anything I had learn in that religion class. That was my first real exposure to existentialism, even if it was a perverse interpretation from a guy who used it as rationalization to have two steady girlfriends at once (which is a great story in itself since both women once showed up at the same party, broke up with Tony and then both got back together with him a few days later). Tony insisted that I read the book again, this time with a greater understanding of its deeper meaning. I did. And I did yet again because I had to re-take that religion class since I bombed it the first time (hey, what can I say? My first few years of academia were anything but academic...). Tony was right. Upon re-reading the book, I found a much deeper meaning within its pages. I began to identify with the protagonist. I began to realize that I, too, was a stranger. Not just to myself or to others, but a stranger in society itself questioning how so many others can so easily and readily accept the absurd constructs of this world both physical and metaphysical. This book didn't change my way of thinking; it just echoed what I had already long been feeling. I realized that I was not alone. Later on in college I took an upper-level philosophy class in which we discussed the meaning of life (or, in some cases, the lack thereof). We read essays by Sarte and Camus, including the Myth of Sisyphus, which particularly hit home. My subscription to the existential philosophy was sealed.

Throughout my youth I had felt out of place. I suppose we all feel like that, but to me there was an empty void that could not be filled. In reflection, I realize that like Meursault, I had become so desensitized by the ennui and the mundane that I sought extreme behaviors just so I could "feel" something. This can explain my constant trouble in school, reckless behavior, early experimentation with substances, and general juvenile delinquency despite coming from a good home with loving parents. Every parent/teacher conference was the same: we know that John has potential but he keeps wasting it... he hangs out with bad influences... blah blah blah. One particularly perceptive teacher even pointed out that I was living a duality: one John was smart, played sports and knew how to "fit in" while the other was self-destructive, anti-authoritarian and hung out with "the bad crowd." Which one was I? Hell, I didn't even know.

I pretty much kicked around in this mode well into my twenties. I didn't have a real existence, I merely existed. As the years have gone on, I have assimilated more into what society expects of me. I have a college degree (two in fact), I'm married, and have two kids, a stable job and a mortgage and auto payment. I can see what the attraction is to this kind of life. It is certainly much easier and I can honestly say that I am generally a much happier person than I was then. I am lucky to have a loving relationship with my wife and family and I hold a respectable position within my company. But am I really any different now than I was then? I am still living in a duality. Sometimes I feel that I was trapped into this job out of necessity, not out of desire. I sought my business degree so I could support my family when all else failed. Although I have done well and have advanced, I often feel that I am living a fraudulent life as if this really isn't "me." Of course, I have matured well past that angry and rebellious younger version of me and I'm not that guy, either. People here have no idea of who I used to be. When the other financial manager here noticed the hole in my ear she exclaimed, "YOU had your ears pierced?" When I mentioned in the break room once that I had a tattoo on my back, I was met with a flood of stares and, again, the remark "YOU have a tattoo?" When I alluded to my shady past once with one of my co-workers she just laughed and said that she just couldn't see it. I have truly become everything that I swore I never would be.

On the other hand, the non-conformist in me still likes to shine through. My approach to my job function is radically different than how it has always been handled in the past. I remember when I first started that I went over to the customer service dept to inquire about a discrepancy. Everyone literally stopped what they were doing and stared at me. When I asked what was going on, I was told that financial guys NEVER come over there. Why not? How does anything get done? Another time when I was talking to the same group of CSRs they were making fun of the financial dept. When I threw in my objection they insisted that I shouldn't worry because I "wasn't one of those guys." When I started in the division I am in now I was warned of a particular sales rep that had a history of being disagreeable, uncooperative and a handful of other pejoratives. From day one I have gotten along with her, and almost two years later I am quite happy to say that she not only reps for my cleanest account group by far (thanks to her help), but I consider her a good friend whom I enjoy talking with often.

So, the question returns, "who am I?" Am I this role that I play each day? Am I really a rebel trapped in this disguise? I still don't know. I am still a stranger. I still subscribe to the tenets of existentialism, but as I referred to in yesterday's post, just because I do not believe in an overall meaning to life, does not mean that I think my life has to be meaningless. I have sought meaning by engaging myself in relationships that are meaningful to me. I believe that the void can be filled with mutual love, both romantic and platonic. I happily embrace my role of husband and father. I have friendships that have lasted longer than our ages when they began. These roles have meaning to me. However, the non-conformist is itching to break free. I want these things, but I need more. A role as a mere cog in the production wheel is not meaningful to me. I know a lot of people feel this way, but I want to be one of the ones who do something about it. I want to live by my own design, to not just derive meaning but to provide it. I no longer want to be the stranger.