Hic Sunt Dracones
“Hi,” I duck my head and smile sheepishly as I walk into the room.
This is an apologetic greeting. It can imply many things based on the context:
“I’m sorry I’m late!”
“I know things are weird between us right now, but here I am.”
“I completely forgot, please forgive me.”
There’s always a reason for it, in my mind. Of course. Everything is always logically justified. The only problem is that I do it all the time, even when I’m just a few minutes late, or even when there is no reason at all. I’m not sure if I’ve ever walked with true confidence into a room, at least not as an adult.
Written upon the mask that I have tried to convince myself is my real face, the reasons are obvious. And I’m oh so lucky that everyone is always so forgiving of my late, weird, forgetful self. But I’m slowly building the habit of looking under these masks—which I’ve always known, even consciously, were there. Under this mask, the justifications fade away and are meaningless.
In the cool dark spaces under my mask, there are more faces, but these are real. They are all the true faces that the mask conceals, even from me. One of them, the sad and lonely one, convinces me not to keep my eye on the time. He is depressed, and wants only to remain in the safe comfort of home. But more than that, he wants to stay in the soft blanket of ignorance and dissociation from the world and time itself. He feels the sagging strain in my facial muscles as I smile. He tugs on those muscles and asks me, are they operating based on truth or lies?
I don’t know, little guy. But I’m going to keep smiling, anyway. Okay?
Another one sulks and frets in a corner. He still smarts from the many times I felt socially shamed in my younger school days. He tells me, (earnestly, because he doesn’t want me to be hurt again) that I’m better off being obsequious, deferent, and appeasing. So I duck my head when I enter. It’s better to occupy other people’s spaces in harmony than to try to claim my own, he knows from experience. Everyone likes people who agree with them, don’t they?
That’s probably true. But I think that it’s possible to have my own space while still harmonizing with others, don’t you? We’ve seen it happen before. It feels nice.
There’s the one peering around the corner with pernicious glee and also vulnerable innocence. He is one of my many little tricksters. This cute little imp is constantly poking the fourth face, who emerged into the world a fully formed adult with a librarian complex. These two inexplicably belong together. They love each other, even as they are opposites. The imp tries his damnedest to get me to break the rules, while the librarian insists I must follow the rules with unerring fidelity. I find a way to always break all the rules just enough to satisfy the imp while also following all the rules just enough to satisfy the librarian. They put me in a perplexing position where they demand: break the rules and follow them.
Okay. But what if there’s another way to do it? What if, instead, I find the rules that can and should be broken and break them with gleeful abandon, while I adhere to the most important rules that reflect the person I want to be?
These faces aren’t completely satisfied with my responses, not yet. I will have to talk to them some more, I think.
But the point is, the real reason I apologize with every greeting is because at my core I feel I need to apologize for myself. Not because I’m late or whatever. But because I feel a deep-seated need to apologize for the bare fact that I exist.
Below my mask, I know that I often make myself late because prompting the condemnation of those who are expecting me will reinforce how shitty I sometimes feel about myself. I also know that things go far more smoothly—and I experience far less anxiety—if I don’t make a space for myself in the world, so I apologize because I am entering someone else’s space. That isn’t fair to them as much as it isn’t fair to me.
The librarian, who is me, reminds me that good friends are on time, they remember all the important things, they are considerate and kind, and compassionate, and it is an imposition to assert yourself. The imp, who is also me, then runs around what the librarian has said and finds ways to tweak things, goads me into asserting myself inconsistently and halfheartedly.
They’ll forgive my being late if I give the impression I was busy and lost track of time.
They’ll forgive me because I am in fact and have always been a forgetful person, and this is just a slightly more strategic deployment of that fact.
They’ll understand if I turn their problem into a story about my own feelings because it shows I’m trying to empathize with them.
And on and on.
But I don’t want to apologize for existing anymore. I don’t want to hold myself to impossible standards and then sabotage my own efforts to do so. I think I deserve my own space, and people seem to respond well when I have one. So I’m going to keep talking with those other faces of mine. They’ve been in the dark for so long. All they really need is some light, some food, and a nice chat. Or three. I think they’ll come around to my side of things.
In the meantime, whether I’m ready or not. I plant my flag now. On the map of all possible spaces, I draw a big red circle around “hic sunt dracones”. I attach to it a sloppy red arrow and a single word.
“Mine.”