Two days ago I got a really weird Facebook message. The person sending it said they just realised that “Coble” was my married name and that they had no idea what my pre-married name had been and what, if any, history we had.
I am mortified. Because I actually wrote up our history when recalling one of my life’s most embarrassing moments.
Yes, guy. That is correct. I completely mortified myself at your expense, and have done for twenty-five years now.
But the weird part is this. That whole thing is this major episode of my past and something I still have creep to the front of my mind when I am tossing in bed at 3:00am thinking about the myriad ways in which I have failed to be spectacular. But to this guy, this other person, I’m just some random person whom he friended on Facebook because we have a shared alma mater and a slap dozen mutual friends. I’m a walk-on.
That whole thing is weirding me out more than time-travel and alternate universes (which is the thing that I fall back on to weird me out on a regular basis.) Not just with this fellow, but in general. Lately whenever I talk to someone it strikes me how I view our conversation in a particular way but to them it means a totally different thing. To them I’m the lady who needs to wash her hair but had to come to Kroger to get a 12-pack of Orange Fanta. To them I’m the weird shut-in they know from blogging. Or I’m the childless aunt who tries to give advice but comes off more like the crazy cat lady aunt.
I star in my own movie, and aside from being kind of same-y here in the middle part I’ve liked this film so far. But it’s so humbling to think that nobody else cares about me and what I do nearly as much as I do. I am glad of this sometimes, because it would creep me out to be a god figure over a world of tiny peoople and what little tastes of celebrity I’ve had over the years–notoriety, more like–have not been things I enjoy.
But it’s also weird in a way that I can’t hit upon. It makes me feel like vapor, moving in and around people but never leaving much of an impression.
I’d at least like to be wicker and leave lines on butts.
A few things.
Re: Facebook friends who obviously don’t know who you are. I’ve gone by my middle name since I started college. I have all my names posted on Facebook though so that my pre-college friends would be able to find me. So it’s been a bit comical to me a couple of times when a college “friend” has responded to a status addressing my with my first name. It’s an instant tell that they have no idea who I am.
But just because, as a rule, people think about us much less than we think people think about us, doesn’t mean we are vapor or that we’re not leaving any lines on people’s backsides. I had an experience that opened my eyes to that when I was in Youth Group at the church I grew up in. There was this guy there (and wouldn’t you know it, I don’t even remember his name at this point) who I would have called my friend, but just barely. He was pleasant enough to hang out with and I enjoyed his company but I didn’t really know him all that well to be honest. Then one day he referred to me as his “best friend,” singular. Not “one of my best friends” but an earnest “best friend.” And it kinda knocked me for a loop. Here was this guy who I’d considered scarcely more than a friendly acquaintance, but to him I was the best friend he had. Which in some ways is kinda sad, but it really taught me the lesson for all the people we mean less to than we might think we do, there are some out there to whom we mean more than we ever realize. That’s a realization that comes with alot of responsibility.
Lastly, I just have to say when I’m reading your “To them, I’m…” The only flashing through my mind is that “What my friends think I do, What my parents think I do…” meme that took over Facebook a bit ago.
If I’m not a star in my own mind, I don’t think I’ll ever reach the status. I was the worst kind of awkward in high school. I’m willing to bet people remember me just for that. Or maybe I’m bloating my sense of self.
To me fame would be a living hell. How terrible to not be able to go out in public without people looking at you, thinking they know you because of a character you’ve played, a book you’ve written, or some other monodimensional think you happened to do in the public eye. We have a close friend who has done some acting and she told a story not long ago about a guy wanting to date her because of a character she played- not really internalizing that she wasn’t actually that character. I think “actor-fame” would be the most horrible type. Personally, I’m rather happy with “professional respect fame” that comes with doing good work and having people know you as you (or at least an only slightly altered best-behavior public version of you) and generally appreciating your work within a smallish audience. I think semi-anonymous, not-recognized-at-parties fame would be the very best. It’d be much more fun to sit in the corner being a wall fly than to have to constantly think “everyone staring at me without trying to stare”. Ick.
When I was growing up I listened to a lot of Billy Crockett music. Knew just about every song and really appreciated him. I introduced his music to Erin when we started dating and she grew to love his stuff as well. In his live albums (and at a concert we attended) he talked about his best friend Gordon and the adventures they had together. I grew up thinking of Gordon as this semi-mythical guy in the Billy Crockett songs… Well, as life would have it, just last year one of our good friends got married and asked us to come to the small wedding. Who’d she marry?
Gordon…. THAT Gordon. Who was the best man? Billy Crockett.
It was really weird.
All I could think as I sat across the table from both of them is what a pain fame would be. We’ve since gotten to know Gordon and it’s only reinforced what I’ve observed on movie sets. Fame unnecessarily separates you from everybody else. I think that’s part of the reason actors can be so messed up.
Wow, what a random, rambling comment.
J