Vintage

People Perception

So, I was waxing philosophical this evening and it occurred to me that there is some kind of inherent error in the way we know people — in the way we perceive them, judge them, and evaluate them relative to our current condition.

When we meet someone, we meet them right then, at that moment. We meet the 22 year, 4 month, and 3 day old version of that individual. And that first impression serves as the basis of all we ever think or perceive about them. Our mind just assumes that they are this way now and they’ve been that way for the past 22 years. And it’s difficult to try and counter that perception. It’s difficult to say “this is who you are today, but this might not be who you were yesterday, last week, last year.”

So much of our time is spent getting to know one another. Everything we do with our family, friends, and significant others is a learning experience. The depth and breadth of our mutual knowledge expands. But how many times have you really stopped to consider not just who your friend has been since you’ve known each other, but who they were before?

How many times have you listened to their stories, their experiences, and tried to frame them into who you think they are? We all find it difficult, but perhaps if we put more emphasis on knowing our friends’ past, as well as their present, we’d have a better idea of the whole person and be much more well-equipped to help them out, understand them, and relate to them, in the future.

It isn’t all about “now.” You might have known me one year, you might have known me for 20 years, but what about the others? Do they alter your perception of who “Dennis” is? Do they differ enough that, perhaps, you ought to really reconsider the type you’ve cast me as? It’s arrogant to think you know everything, and it’s presumptuous of me to assume that everyone should want to know everything.

But when judgments get made about me — or about any of one’s friends — those judgments need to be the most informed ones possible. And without considering that there is a novel or two of one’s life which you’ve yet to read or experience, it is absolutely disturbing that any of us would rush to judge a person by only the most recent chapter of the most recent volume.

Relocation, Relocation, Relocation

I’ve spent the past four years of my life trying to define, and locate, what “home” is. Of course, there’s that place we grow up — the veritable “hometown.” And that’s fine, it’s great — but to me, Selinsgrove was never really the definition of what I wanted for my life. For various reasons, Selinsgrove was not synonymous with Dennis. In fact, one might even call them antonyms.

So in the summer of 2004 I moved to North Carolina, a place I had always wanted to live for some reason, to further this quest. I absolutely loved the Carolina lifestyle and still think, to this day, that I could easily relocate there and make it home. But, because the college I chose didn’t live up to my hopes, nor did it have my preferred major, I found myself looking at other options. Some of them were Carolinian, others were Pennsylvanian, and I feared the latter category.

But true to form, in a life of contradictions, the anti-Pennsylvania kid picked a very established Pennsylvania university, and it was off to Philadelphia’s Temple University in the Fall of 2005. Oy. Arriving in Philadelphia, I was both excited and appalled. Excited, because I’m a northern kid at heart; appalled, because woah — this is no pristine, clean, storybook WONDERFUL city like Charlotte was.

After three semesters, the “appalled” part of my mind took over and I resorted to moving home for a semester to try and get my bearings. Well, the one thing you can’t get in Selinsgrove is bearings. They’re in short supply. Out of stock. And I realized after being here in the Grove for a few months that this place pretty much sucks. Back to Philly, and this time it was a pleasure, a delight, and I enjoyed almost every minute of it. We’ll leave aside the roommate conflicts of the winter and the provinciality of the summer. We’ll pretend this is objective.

I returned to Selinsgrove recently, briefly, because of a certain life story which most of you know (and those who don’t know will never know!). I thought it was going to be hellish, horrible, the worst thing in my entire life (I lied to everyone when I said I was hopeful — you know how I put on my false-confidence face in these situations). Turns out, not so much. It wasn’t as good as Philly can be, but it wasn’t as bad as 2007 often was. And I learned a few things about myself and my surroundings. I still think this place sucks, don’t get me wrong. I am no fan of the townies or the whole…schtick…around here. But I made lemonade from lemons, added a bit of vodka, and celebrated with friends.

I leave this Grove on the shores of the Susquehanna knowing that all was not for naught. I leave here more appreciative still of what Philadelphia has to offer. And I leave here knowing something certain: in my search for “home,” I have found two very viable choices; when I’m through with my plans for life, I will pick one and be supremely happy. And I’m not condemned to a damning life of townie-hood like some of the people around this fair hamlet.

Thank GOD.