got it together

My house looks like a war zone. I have decided to finish it. Not as in blow it up, but as in bringing in the contractor army and getting it in shape in case I need to bail. Bail, you say? Bail where? Nowhere right now. You just don’t want to be caught in your bathrobe and slippers if the building suddenly catches fire and you need to flee. I don’t predict that I’ll have any reason to do this in the next few months, but it is good to be ready for anything. I wasn’t ready for what happened three weeks ago, and look at me now.

As I observed my huge mess of catalogs, colored pencils, computer peripherals, old plates, glasses, napkins, DVDs, and receipts littering my coffee and dining tables this morning, I could only think, does anyone know I live this way? Well yes, some people do. My close friends, my mom, and now, that person in the Islamic Republic of Iran who I saw reading my blog in the site stats.

I often wonder what the definition is of “got it together.” I think for the most part I project this lifestyle, and the people who are fooled are the ones who meet me at parties, the ones who watch me play polo, the girl at hockey who looks at me starry-eyed when I tell her where I work. Yesterday I was rushing to iron a collared shirt that had been lying in my “clean but wrinkled pile” for at least a month, when I tripped over the ironing board and almost sent the hot iron flying into the hallway. I paused for a moment, half dressed, my hair still hanging clumped and wet over my bare shoulders, and sat down on my bed. I had my first interview to conduct that day for a UI design candidate, and I could only think, is he rushing around furiously right now? Does he think man, I am going to interview with a lot of people at a cool company who’ve all got it together? As I dug through my laundry basket the way a dog digs a hole for a bone, I thought, thank God he doesn’t know how I live.

This is the issue with perceptions. A lot of times, they’re wrong. I did show up for the interview with my perfectly pressed shirt and my hair blow-dried into professionally straight strands and my trousers not fitting as well as they used to but no one could tell when I was sitting down. “Nice to meet you,” I had said to the candidate, as I shook his hand. He had on a vertically striped shirt with a diagonally striped tie. I breathed a small sigh of relief. At least I knew you shouldn’t wear two striped items on the same day. Still, I could only imagine what he was thinking when he met me. Smart, amazing, well dressed, got it together? How about going to emotional pieces? Halfway through the interview, when he finally turned to the whiteboard to work out the design problem I had given him, I sat back in my chair and put my hands over my face. I got it together, I thought to myself, then quickly nodded, smiling, when he turned back to me for approval of his design.

Of course, this works both ways, and I think more often than not I’m a mess on the outside and glowing ecstatically on the inside. The trouble is that when I’m on the verge of getting what I really want, I sometimes project my worst, allowing all my insecurities and fears to float to the surface and darken some otherwise golden moment in my life. But you can’t escape public perception. If that’s how it looks on the outside, why would people ever assume it’s any different on the inside?

I was talking to Bloghatress the other day about a person I used to work with at my old company. Queenie is the type of person who has it all together, with the boyfriend she met at the cafe while writing her masters thesis, the house by the ocean they remodeled together, the Alaskan Malamute and two cats, the high profile job at a respectable company. I saw her once in the women’s restroom, dressed primly in her blue suit, brushing her teeth at the sink. “I’m meeting customers today for a usability test,” she said, “so I need fresh breath.” She organized all of the UI group’s social events, setting up pumpkin carving and costume contests at Halloween, and potluck parties throughout the year. I once went hiking with her and her boyfriend at San Pedro Valley Park in Pacifica, and they discussed with me their Asian house redecorating theme and athletic activities. Thai kickboxing was Queenie’s passion. At a BBQ at one of our hockey player’s houses, we watched Ultimate Fighting Championships on TV while she drooled over wrestling techniques and discussed the finer points of the leg hold with one of the other kickboxers in the group. To some extent, I was impressed. There’s no doubt I have my own personal devotions and hobbies, but Queenie just had it all together. Classy, athletic, well dressed, professional, attractive socialite.

Last week Bloghatress told me that Queenie had decided to take a kickboxing vacation in Thailand while her boyfriend was visiting his family in another state. She returned, flushed and glowing, only to go back to the country shortly thereafter. When pressed, she admitted she wasn’t going back for another personal vacation. It wasn’t long after this that all photos of her boyfriend disappeared from her desk at work and images of a yoked, sinewy, half-nude Thai kickboxer in action filled all the frames on her shelves. “We’re engaged,” she finally admitted to coworkers, and she wasn’t talking about the boyfriend she lived with.

“What?!” I had said to Bloghatress. “Yup,” she said, nodding. “And everyone thinks she’s got it all together.” I had sat back in my chair at the pizza parlor then, my head buzzing a bit from liquor and the grim revelation. When I got over the shock, I realized then that maybe I had it more together than I thought. It’s one thing to chase someone away with false doubts, like I’ve done. If I’m sometimes bad on the outside and mostly good on the inside, well, at least I’m still good on the inside. It’s another issue entirely to lead someone to believe that your perfect exterior is also your perfect interior, when really it’s just all garbage and seagulls in the end.