Dreams of Arcadia

I have a thing about having my picture taken. It’s not quite a Sean Penn level of loathing, where the fists fly as soon as an unwelcome shutter closes, but it’s close enough to be discomforting for others who don’t get what all the fuss is about. It started in my late teens, a period where my self-confidence was at an all-time low, and there was little about myself that made me happy in the presence of others. This is isn’t to say I was shy or reserved — I was quite the opposite, in fact — but the personality I had acquired at that age had very little to do with what I felt was the “real” me, and more with what I thought people expected me to be. Unfortunately, these assumptions were so far from the truth — more shoebox shorthand than genuine understanding — that I quickly came to loathe living up to expectations. I felt something like an actor on somebody else’s stage; a performer expected to realize some mystery director’s vision, and who despised the character he was expected to perform (like Leslie Howard in Gone With the Wind). Read the rest of this entry »