Week 7: Persona/Self, Jungian Archetypes Part 3
About three weeks into doing this shadow work exercise, I started having more and more lucid dreams. There have been a couple of dreams with my mom watching my progress with cautious optimism and offering an encouraging hug. Before her passing, I opened up to her about the civil war brewing within my consciousness. She advised me to be cautious when dealing with my own shadow, just as she did when I was a child. Concerned by my aggressive tone, she advised me, “Don't throw the baby out with the bathwater.” Which, I'm ashamed to admit, made me laugh, at first. I honestly don't know how that ever became of a figure of speech.
The sad thing is, it's been one hell of a procedure, applying this to my persona, but it is fitting imagery. What would I be without the persona I'd worn since birth. Is it even possible to remove yourself from the mask placed onto you as a child? I think this is why I was so keen to become a performer. Since I felt like I could never take that mask off, I could at least always look for new ones to try on.
About a month into my first job as a software engineer, my boss asked me if I'd started feeling any impostor syndrome yet. I immediately panicked. Should I be? I thought. Hadn't I sacrificed enough of my life, my dreams, my selfish ambitions, to work towards landing this job so I could finally provide for my family? Had I not rehearsed the script enough to legitimately play this role?
He laughed at my delayed response, then proceeded to tell me about the dreaded pervasive impostor syndrome phase that most new developers go through. He proceeded to share with me several of the big mistakes he'd made throughout his career to ease my mind and shape my expectations for myself. It was a weird form of mentorship, but I loved it. His affable nature relieved so much of the tension I'd built landing my first job, he fostered a great environment for continuous improvement.
I wish I had learned this concept of self-acceptance much sooner in my life.
When I was a missionary, I felt the immense pressure of representing my village and the sacrifices they made in raising me. Every night, before bed, we were asked to fill out an obedience exactness chart with 30 or so explicit rules.
Did you study your scriptures, your Spanish, and the white missionary handbook?
Did you lock your heart against the temptations of the flesh?
Did you keep your companion in your line of sight at all times, other than while using the bathroom?
Do you still fantasize about your companion choking on the gum he's been constantly smacking for the past 3 hours?
We were allowed to miss 3.
If we missed more, we had to explain ourselves to the president of the mission in our weekly letter as to why we were slipping in obedience, and in so doing losing claim to the guidance of the Holy Ghost. It was exhausting. My OCD brain never let me relax about the endless mission rules. Eventually, I prayed for relief and found an answer. One “slacker” companion had found a loophole. He said, “When you get to the question, were you honest in your dealings with your fellow man..., mark it with an x, then sweep the rest with checks.” I could finally relax and get to sleep.
Eventually, the guilt and depression built up to a critical mass, and I had a mental breakdown. I asserted myself against the rules that had become unhealthy for me, like getting adequate sleep, and taking time to be alone. In so doing I felt guilty and unworthy to continue serving in that role, even the church deemed my release as honorable, due to my depression, but I still felt like I let my village down as well as the countless souls that would never hear God's message because I could not live up to the expectations. I was touched by my local church leaders and parents who fought behind the scenes for me and my mental health as they also recognized the bugs in the system.
As a programmer, I understand the logic behind exactness in executing code, but I refuse to devolve into an automaton. It's almost as if we were given all these rules, to force us to evaluate which ones were worth keeping and which ones needed to be challenged, as Eve did to break free from the garden. I felt it was time to remove myself from my mission, having gained the knowledge of what was healthy versus what was unhealthy, for myself.
I accelerated my transition back into normalcy by putting back on the trickster and immersing myself in stand-up comedy. I became the protégé of an alternative comic in L.A. who would, before my eyes, rise out of her own refiner's fire. She seemed to gain an attitude of greater general acceptance and tolerance but also become very adamant about cutting out the toxicity in her own life.
She stuck her neck out many a time to integrate me as an outsider comedian into her scene. She seemed charmed by my good old boy Mormony greenness, but there were others in her circle that was not as enchanted by my unapologetic naivete. I was often criticized for playing up this foolish persona on her podcast as I embraced the role of a lazy researcher. I did it to secure a role in this challenging new environment. It slowly became a toxic character for me and the show, and when my wife told me I was going to be a dad, I thought of that child one day coming across the podcast and seeing this pathetic creature I'd become and it paralyzed me.
Sadly, I couldn't see a way to evolve that toxic persona I created in LA.; I ran from my wall once again. At first, I saw the internship as a failure, but slowly as time passed and life crept along I started to unpack the real value of the experience.
At times I felt bullied, she mocked my inability to procure the perfect green banana for her morning smoothies. In reality, she couldn't care less, but it was her way of tempering me, it was a strange mentorship, I don't remember Mr. Miyagi using bananas as an object lesson.
She eventually asked if I would ever attend her wedding. This was on the heels of Prop 8. I saw an expression on her face that seemed to say, I know I don't even need to be asking you this. But the question still split me in two. I am a product of my deeply ingrained Mormon morality, but this policy felt like yet another test from Eden. She knows who she is, and what is good in her life, but I was asked to believe that God would tell her to wander alone in the wilderness? Obviously, I said yes, and so happy that I did. Being at her wedding was one the most wholesome experiences of my life, seeing her family and friends, one by one, step up to embrace her new wife into their community.
I recently had another lucid dream. This time taking place in a crowded theater. I was nervous because I was supposed to perform in front of all my family and friends. They were dressed to the nines and excited to see what I had prepared for them.
I make my way to the stage and watch the performer in front of me. They seem to be into it, so I relax a bit until I hear them call out the name of the next performer...”Please welcome to the stage, making his live television debut, Mr. Aaron Bananas!”
The crowd cheers and I look around for this Mr. Bananas guy, and the stage manager's eyes start bugging out as she prods me onto the stage. I take too long to get out there as something else takes my place, It's a shriveled up ball of skin and bones telling tired old street jokes, the audience goes dead and the stage manager yells into her stage mic, “What the hell is this? I thought we screened these people!”
The lights go up and everyone filters out in disappointment. I get desperate and try to chase them down but the next show is being set up and I am kicked out of the theater, left to wander the rest of the studio, finding giant empty rooms with blue screens painted on the walls. I leave my literal Eden and enter my archetypal wilderness.
I wake up but am still in a dream state. I close my eyes and give the abstraction some time to linger until I feel the wall of anxious eyes fade to black as my deeply rooted obsession to perform for everyone fades away and I'm finally left alone on the stage to meet myself... and I ask them 3 simple questions.
End of Act 1
The Archetypes
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