The Fountainhead

I had one of those moments today. The ones where you're just sitting looking at a person you've known forever, and you realize you don't know them at all.

It all has to do with seeing people. Some people you see as friends or family--familiar, right? And you don't think much of it. You meet them every day until the contours of their faces, the shape of their hands, becomes second nature. And somewhere along the line you stop thinking of them as people at all, just as parts of your life. Like their only purpose is to carry around with them--to school, to work, to bed--the part of you that you give out.

Then there are the people people. The ones you glimpse at the mall, on the street. You see them and think, "Wow that lady's hair is fake" or "He looks older than my dad". You think that they are all the same, these people. They are all a part of the invisible mask you label "society". And all those faces you file away under that category without a thought.

The strange moments, though--those are the ones when you realize that people are individuals. You look at a mouth and a nose and the hair you've seen for half a decade and they all look foreign. There's something there, in those eyes, that you can't recognize. Because you've never noticed it there before, or it's never been there before.

That's when you think, "Oh. She's a person. She's not a piece of me. She's not a part of a mask, a sequined bead stuck on, a wisp of feather. She's not a name, or a face. She's not the words that come out of her mouth or the tilt of her head or the curve of her handwriting. She's a person. She's real."

So much of what we see is sunk into our impressions. Glasses make an intellectual. Muscles make an athlete. Expensive clothing makes a snob. Blonde hair makes a bimbo.

I guess that's why we're so surprised when the unexpected happens. We don't expect unpredictability; that's why it sticks with us. That's why the aced calculus test for the goth girl bothers us. That's why the pettiness in a sweet boy makes us cringe.

The only thing to wonder is, if we are not the shape of our arms or the lisp in our voice, what are we? The arch of our foot? The light in our laugh? And why is it important, to be known as an individual? Why can't we be content as that bead or that feather on society's mask?

I sort of like the idea of selfishness. Like perhaps the "selfless" people are the ones who aren't people anymore, because they've given up the individual in favor of others. To serve others, perhaps, but to give oneself up nonetheless. Moderation, maybe? We can't be all one or the other, selfless or selfish, lest we forget ourselves, or we forget others. I think that's why the unexpected moments surprise us. When we look at a person, really look at them, and realize they have secrets too. They are selfish, they are selfless, they don't know who they are any more than we. Then our image of them is shattered. And some of us pick up the same pieces and fit them the same way. The goth girl is still goth. The kid with glasses is still smart. And the rest...? The rest are the slim few, the small percent, that fit the pieces a different way. The ones who realize their friends have a purpose in life beyond being their friends. Their parents are individuals. They are all "people", but they are not all the same people.

That's why I picked "The Fountainhead". It supports complete selfishness. And even though I disagree with that, at least it's not complete selflessness. Somewhere in between sounds about right.