A Question of Identity

We don't think about our identities very often, do we? We choose how we dress and somewhere niggling in the back of our minds we have an idea of how we want to be perceived by others, but we don't usually act out of conscious decisions. We just 'do'. We already know who we are, we don't need to think before we act.

In the last two years my identity has changed. My whole outlook on life, the universe and everything has shifted off sideways in a kind of tipsy, happy, huggy kind of way and I'm much happier because of that, as I'm sure are those people around me who had to cope with the miserable, pessimistic version of me for so many years. But I didn't sit there one day and think, “I want to change. Who do I want to be now?”

The last week, however, has seen me look a lot more closely at myself; my actions, my outlook, my physical appearance, how fit (or unfit) I feel, where I want to be, what I'm prepared to do to get where I want to be... it's all quite exhausting, really!

Yesterday I took bleach to my hair (yes, yes, the stuff that's meant for hair!). I'm not sure what I hoped to see looking back at me in the mirror when it was all washed out, but I did see what I expected; a whole lot of blonde and orange and left with a scalp that requires a few days of recovery before attempting a cover-up. And tomorrow I need to go to work.

My own reactions have been mixed; laughter, desperation (maybe I can use the other colour anyway!), resignation. I was even nervous of dad's reaction. Having last seen me with dark red hair, the last thing I needed was for him to think there was an intruder in the house or have a coronary! Resignation is the one that's stuck with me, though. I did this to myself, deep down I knew what the result would be, and after all... it's only hair.

It's only hair.

That right there is what made me start thinking about identities. It's not only hair at all. It's one of the ways we define ourselves, especially for women (although admittedly men are coming into their own in the area of personal grooming!). My hairdresser said to me yesterday that some people just aren't meant for long hair, and I agreed, perhaps because I know I'm one of those people. It only took me 38 years to figure it out. Walking down the high street yesterday I clearly remember seeing the people not meant for 'conventional' appearance, some not meant for being alone, some for whom a smile seemed to have been invented and who make the world so much more pleasant.

Our identities are more important to us than we realise, at least until something happens to tear it down into pieces. My orange hair is nothing, it's irrelevant in the grand scheme of things. It will grow back, I'll change the colour again and all is well. Identities... people... are shattered by so much more. People lose their sight or their hearing, they lose limbs, they become incapacitated through illness, women have mastectomies, men have orchiectomies and the world keeps on turning, but to those people how they view themselves physically, emotionally or both is changed forever whether they consciously think about it or not. We hear of people being strong in the face of adversity and at the same time the person next door is falling apart. Is that a conscious decision? Does it matter? Regardless of how they came to be the people they are, their actions, words and appearance are theirs. We only spectate on the pieces of their world that they're willing to let us see. Although some of us try to be involved we're only ever as involved as they allow.

In the past week I've spent time with so many people and so many different personalities. I've been saddened with bad news from a colleague and friend, lifted by so many other colleagues and friends, old and new, frustrated by acquaintances, irritated by a rare few, and given absolute joy by people who while facing negativity chose to laugh, smile and sing with extra vigour. These are the people I salute, and the people against whom I measure myself, if only in a small way and only when I remember!

I make my decisions much more consciously now than I ever used to. When faced with negativity or bad attitude I returned it without a thought to what was behind it in the first place, and it never made me feel any better for giving as good as I got. Now? If someone talks to me negatively I respond with extra kindness and positivity. If I'm greeted with hostility I return a sweeter greeting and soften my voice. I do these things consciously; partly because I feel calmer when I do, but also because I don't know what, amongst the negativity and hostility, is happening in that person's life that I can't see.

It's all part and parcel of my identity. Seen or heard, it's all just me. Tomorrow I'll plaster a smile on my face and hope that by doing so, I'll feel better about being accidentally ginger and let others laugh with me instead of at me. Even now I'm wondering what on earth in my wardrobe I can wear that won't clash! The answer is probably nothing. So then, suck it up girl and get on with it!

Tomorrow I'll also consider that with each person I meet they have their own important, private stories, and that their identities, consciously chosen or not, are theirs. I won't judge, but I will think about how I respond. I'll treat everyone equally and I'll be as kind as I can possibly be (without being creepy, cuz you know... there's a limit!).

There's one person out there who comes to mind, and his first piece of advice to a ten year old boy when he met his hero was to be nice. Two months later he proved that he practices what he preaches, and that same ten year old boy is the proud owner of a personally hand-written letter meant just for him.

Whatever else you do tomorrow, be nice to someone whether you think they deserve it or not. And if you see me walking down the corridor and think, “Oh crap, it's like she's wrapped her head in a peach!”, feel free to say it or not, but please... if you say it, say it nicely!