Authenticity and choices
I always leave my house fifteen minutes before my train arrives. Before I go, I ensure my complexion looks okay by getting rid of the tiny bits of mascara that have plastered themselves on my eyelids, applying some lip balm to disguise the cracks on my lips, and quickly changing the shirt I am wearing because who I want to appear as today changed as quickly as the numbers on my clock changed from 16:30 to 16:45. Time to leave.
With my headphones on, small suitcase in hand, bag on my back and my shark Henrique wedged between the strap of my backpack and my chest, I make my way towards the train station. My suitcase feels extra heavy, filled to the brim with clothing, makeup, that one pair of shoes I know deep inside I will not wear, a pair of leggings in case I want to work out, and other miscellaneous items that eat up the space. My backpack, however, is filled with everything I need access to on the train: a laptop so that I can study, a philosophy book so I can read, and my water bottle so I do not die of dehydration. If I am stuck travelling for 3.5 hours, I had better make the time count. As I settle down in one of the seats on the train and look in my backpack to see all the objects I have taken to spend my time on the train, I take out my phone and open Netflix.
Clicking on Brooklyn 99 , I go to the last episode of season 2 entitled “Johnny and Dora” – one of my favourite episodes – and even though I am first distracted by the fact that I have only been on this train for 10 minutes, slowly but surely the impending thought reveals itself to me, manifesting as jitters in my legs and deep sighs as I look around the train cabin:
I am bored.
And instead of trying to do something other than watch Netflix, like reading my book or doing my schoolwork, I continue watching, completely braindead. I experience thoughts that shun me for doing this, the content of which is not important. They all, however, come down to the same thing: “Be better”.
Sometimes, I get these sudden bursts of motivation to “be better”, so I grab the book and start reading it. And if you are anything like me, the first pages of reading a book are oftentimes the most excruciatingly dull part. Two things usually happen here (one more than the other): (1) Reading the book turns into a hyper-fixation, and I will read 50 pages fully annotating, or (2) I will sigh really loudly, eye my phone, look at people around me, eye my phone again, and then put my book back in my bag and actually grab my phone, this time clicking on season 3, episode 22 “Bureau”.
In the case of option (1), I usually have convinced myself that I am the type of person who reads non-fiction on the train for fun, completely forgetting my distaste for it when I started. I praise myself for pushing through; the mental stimulation feels so good when I enter “the flow”. I am experiencing a high, a feeling of power that only descends from the feeling of having control over your own life, of a life that aligns with what you want.
In the case of (2), I will be fixated on my disdain for that initial reading stage, asking myself why I cannot be like those people you see reading on the train for fun, and another part of me accepts my boredom and questions why I even try to read. Because what is the point of trying to be or act like something I am not? Perhaps I should accept that I am not like that and do not enjoy what I think I must do to “be better”. Because why would I do the things that do not make me feel good? Should I feel content being who I am now, and is everything I am trying to do to "better" myself simply a feeble attempt at being something I am not? The question lingers: which one is my authentic self?