Like Reflective Surfaces...
"Gay men are typically tall and thin," my 7th grade Language Arts teacher declared to the class one day. I'm not sure what sparked the discussion in the first place, but his words stuck with me, a skinny boy who was growing vertically. Who/what was I growing into? I learned in high school that gay men come in all shapes and sizes despite what my teacher said, but the need to prove myself through my physical stature took on new form after I arrived at college and was immediately labeled: "fag." Compulsive exercising, muscle-building supplement binges, and diet obsession bulked me up to 210 lbs., my heaviest weight. I overpowered the "gay look" but my ability to jump as well as my flexibility were left back in the weight room. It wasn't until someone mentioned I looked heavier that I stopped taking the weight gainer and eating double-decker Tyson chicken patty bagel sandwiches. What was I?!
Fast forward to my trip out west: I was vegetarian, eating significantly less calories (even fasting on a few occasions to gain some clarity), and shedding weight dramatically. Though I would catch sight of myself in the reflection of my car windows randomly, I didn't really take in my whole image till I got home and stood in front of the mirror. Where did I go? While my heart swelled to take leaps of faith and be flexible in all situations, the frailty that stared back at me caused concern. I got on the scale, and the meager numbers peaked up at me: 145 lbs. How would I accomplish any of the things I wanted looking this weak? Looks can certainly be deceiving...and also a death sentence. I spent the next few months avoiding eye contact with my reflection to escape feeling so powerless, yet my fear of accepting the figure in the mirror took a toll on my spiritual well-being. That soulful connection I discovered on my road trip began to get flabby, and the shame associated with my being returned stronger than ever. It was as if the evil clown was hitting the weight room 3x a day just waiting for the moment that my mental fortitude would recede just a hair (another battle) so it could burrow back under my skin and erupt (and another). There seemed to be only one solution: face the monster quickly taking shape in the mirror. Or suffer another lifetime of getting ready in the dark...Why does life need to be lived in hi-def anyways?
This is why we can't have nice things...like reflective surfaces.
Positioned in front of the mirror, I'm immediately confronted by 5 to 10 things that seem necessary to change. Bad skin, unkempt hair, signs of aging, signs of weakness...after years of playing Where's Waldo and I Spy, my eyes are adept at finding each and every vulnerability starting at my head and working their way down to my shoulders, then knees, and yes, even my toes. "I can't even look at him," I overheard a classmate say to her friend freshman year of high school (it seems as if it were yesterday), and in many ways, I agree. What is this awkward mix of bones, skin, and hair that I'm forced to suffer with? Beginning in my teens, this question followed me from mirror to mirror. Sometimes, it would leave me enraged, furious with a universe that hit me so frequently with the ugly stick. Other times, it would open the floodgates as I cowered in the fetal position unwilling to face the day with my face. Even with all the resources spent toward perfecting my physical appearance, nothing seemed to bring me any satisfaction as my eyes jumped from one glaring issue to the next. My entire life became centered around how others would perceive me, and subsequently, much of my judgment was based on others' outward appearances.
Since my looks were vilified by the evil clown in the mirror, I felt the need to prove myself in other ways, upholding the facades of masculinity, success, intelligence, and confidence. My eyes were too well-versed to fool, though—I was proficient in finding Wizard Whitebeard's scroll—so I eventually parted ways with my reflection and lived my life away from mirrors to avoid feeling two-faced. Maybe this would have been a good solution had I not been so intent on seeming perfect and gaining approval from others; as it was, I was desperate for attention and recognition. When I was complimented, I couldn't truly accept it since I couldn't accept myself; the superficial cycle was unstoppable because I refused to come face-to-face with my reflection. I clamored for more and more attention, but it fell on deaf ears when it was received. I tried to gain approval, but the ways in which I pursued it elevated my shame and broke my heart. I was a giant mess, inside and out. I can't even stand looking at him...
believe in your silent own way
"Mirror, mirror, on the wall. Who is escaping down the hall?" When I left for Grand Rapids, I had no idea what to expect or do. I wanted to write, reconnect with old friends, practice camping, explore being authentic in a place where I severely detoured from this ideal previously...there were many check boxes on my list, but I had no plan of action. Transitioning from a 40+ hour work week to unemployment was probably the most dramatic shift, and I wasn't sure how to fill all the time in a day without leaning heavily into addictive behavior for relief. Of course, I could have padded my daily routine with all the creative activities my heart was urging me to pursue, but I was still too afraid to trust myself and commit. After a week of feeling useless, I decided to wake up each morning and trek out to a local park as the sun rose, but this pitted me against my old foe: the mirror.
At my friend's place, there was an antique mirror perched above the stairway, so each time I walked down, I came face-to-face with my reflection. With my bedroom door positioned at the top of the stairs, this made matters even worse; on each trip to the bathroom or kitchen, I was confronted by that diabolical inner voice that reduced me down to nothing. In order to avoid it, I often chased down the hall or the stairs to get away during the day. This worked, to some degree, but I was left wondering, will I always run away from my reflection? Occasionally, I tried to stand my ground in the mirror against the barrage of insults being hurled at me but that wore me down fast. Then, an idea struck while I was sitting in the sun and waving at my shadow: what if I emerge at night?
At first, it was creepy. Though my battles with the evil clown in the light were brutal, I was accustomed to its cruelty and could weather the attacks better; the dark plunged me into something completely unfamiliar. That terrifying, subversive voice seemed to come at me from every direction. Before the negativity forced me to hide under the covers, I did what came natural as I stared at my shadow: I waved. And guess what...my shadow waved back! :) Obviously, right? But something about the small gesture made me smile and helped me tune out the voice. Using that experience as my guide, I followed my shadow wherever it took me. Sometimes, I would find myself perched up on a fallen tree, balancing above the earth as my shadow waved in the sunlight. Another day, my shadow would be leading me up a sand dune in Saugatuck or down a trail in the Huron-Manistee Forest. My shadow was pretty adventurous as it turns out. My heart still would skip a beat when my eyes caught sight of me in the mirror, but it was clear my shadow was on the right path.
Free Your Mind of Doubt and Danger
"Mirror, mirror, on the ground. Who's on the brink of being found?" It's a liberating experience being away from the mirror for a while, especially when your shadow is leading you into some intense physical and emotional experiences. I've chronicled quite a few via This is Why... and What's in a Name? but I'm not sure I've made it clear what gave me the courage in those moments to really tackle the varied challenges. As mentioned, during my time in Michigan, my shadow took over the metaphorical wheel and drove me toward greater love and acceptance; however (as weird as it might sound), I didn't necessarily feel connected to my actions. Yes, I felt both fear and exhilaration, but it was as if MATTHEW was sleepwalking while my shadow held my hand through each experience. When I started the journey Southwest, I couldn't support this degree of separation any longer; I had to acknowledge the push and pull between my soul and the evil clown as I approached each obstacle. Moreover, I had to make a choice: which voice would become my voice?
Duh! Again, it seems so obvious, right? Well, take into consideration that I've spent the majority of my life bullied by an inner saboteur that told me I wasn't good enough to be happy, so when a light shined on my path to happiness, what do you think was there ready to obscure it? I literally had to dive in to understand that I was capable of everything my shadow was leading me toward. I finally accepted the inner voice that made me feel whole rather than the one that tore me to shreds. Consequently, I felt that I no longer needed to hide among the shadows, even after a particularly harsh fall at the Grand Canyon that left my face (and soulful connection) a bloody mess. Through every obstacle, hurdle, and face plant, I was able to find the humor, just like when I first waved at my shadow in the mirror. I saw how it was all connected to the bigger picture (for me, my web); the harsh judgments of the evil clown retreated as my soul offered the affirmations necessary to reach expanded consciousness and integrity.
keeping time to the speed of sound
"Mirror, mirror, in my heart. Who is ready to live the part?" It would have been wonderful to arrive home and find my reflection beaming back at me with all the joy and peace I discovered on my journey, to vanquish the evil clown from ever stepping foot in front of the mirror with me again. Did I always look this old and unsteady? Was I just fooling myself through all this soul discovery? Fear kept me separated from the mirror as I tried to regain the confidence to face myself again, but the former outpaced the latter, which plopped me back into the same superficial cycle that focused my attention on physical appearance over spiritual well-being. My creativity slowed to a halt, and I desperately sought external approval and recognition to feel better about not pursuing my dreams. Obviously (!!!) this was not a solution. Will I EVER be able to face myself without inflicting so much pain?
Then, Robin Sharma reflected some light in my direction via Who Will Cry When You Die?, sharing that "Comedian Steve Martin reportedly laughs for five minutes in front of the mirror every morning to get his creative juices flowing and to start his day on a high note (try it — it works) Laughter therapy has even been used to cure illnesses and heal those with serious ailments" (49). Knowing that humor helped me on my path, I tried a few different things to negate the evil clown and heal my soul. My bedroom mirror transformed into a heart made up of smiling faces of friends and family, snapshots of butterflies and spiders, and Post-Its with my belief statements; the mirror in the office was lined with colorful affirmations and humorous quotes. When I became stressed out about a blemish or a sign of aging, I looked myself in the eyes and said "I love you" while gripping my heart to feel the beat. After a week or so of practicing face-to-face showdowns, an interesting thing happened. When I looked into my eyes, I saw my parents' reflections, particularly my father's. Whose image was I trying to uphold? How did this create unrealistic expectations regarding who I actually was? I realized that I was trying to follow in my parents' mirror images rather than create my own, and I had been doing this for quite some time with my appearance, lifestyle, and demeanor. With the steady thump leaping from my chest, I turned back to my web and remembered the image that exists inside me, beyond me. Gradually, the mirror became a less threatening place, and I spent more time being my goofy self when I caught my reflection staring back at me. I would strike funny poses or make silly faces, trying to elicit a bright smile or hearty laugh. I began to stand fearlessly in the mirror; any negativity was met with humor and acceptance. As a result, my authentic voice grew stronger in the outside world. My relationships with friends and family blossomed as we saw beyond the exterior and into each others' hearts. Most importantly, my creativity took on new life as I stepped through the looking glass and into a world of fascination and mystery. If only that pesky caterpillar could see me now, he would know exactly who I am.