Julie Berry: Embracing Round

Julie Berry lives in suburban Boston with her husband and four young sons. She is the author of several novels for children and young adults including The Amaranth Enchantment published by Bloomsbury and works in software sales and marketing.  You can read more about Julie and her favorite books here.

***
At a recent meeting of a Boston-based salon-style women’s group, the discussion leader, Kimberly Carlile, posed these questions, following a conversation on the transformative power of literature in our lives.

Can we see our lives as stories, and ourselves as protagonists?
If so, are we flat characters, or round?

Source:  istockphoto

In fiction we’re fascinated by characters who, like real people, are flawed, unpredictable, conflicted, self-deceived, smart yet irrational, courageous yet fragile, prudent yet occasionally reckless, irresponsible yet sometimes noble, righteous yet privately naughty. Books I love best confront and embrace their characters’ roundness. The author’s empathy for, amusement at, and delight in their little cast of loonies shines through on every page.

When Kimberly asked, “Are we flat characters or round?” I realized something about myself that I hadn’t articulated until I put it in the language of literary character.

I occupy many roles – wife, mother, author, marketing director, choir director, neighbor, friend, daughter, citizen, and so on.  But what character do I play as I occupy these roles? Is it an honest one?

In my town I often play The Frazzled Mother of Four Rambunctious Boys. This is scarcely an artistic stretch. I’ve spent years polishing my performance. The community is happy to place me there. I get a lot of, “Four?  All yours? God bless you!” as if I’d sneezed my sons into being.

Source:  istockphoto

The problem starts when I adopt this character consciously, hamming up my performance, so to speak. Egocentric Me is stroked by the positive attention (“Four boys! How do you do it?”). Lazy Me believes less will be expected of me in this role (“Tardy again, Mrs. Berry? Oh, that’s all right.”). I wear it as a sandwich board, a pre-emptive excuse for the chaos in my life. If Frazzled Mother of Four Boys is what you think of me, you’ll, perhaps, overlook my messy house, filthy car, late paperwork, missing school snacks, forgotten trumpets, unanswered messages, etc.

Except – and here’s the kicker – what you’ll actually think of me is entirely independent of this little charade I play in my head, and, furthermore, who cares what you think? This performance is staged by my ego, for my ego.  It’s narcissistic at its core, caring nothing for those to whom I owe honesty, friendliness, or punctual permission slips.

Source:  istockphoto

And, it’s a lie. I’m bigger and better than I let on. I’m defrauding you when I play this game. The fact is, I can manage my life better, when I choose to. The truth is, I’m making choices other than to be a better manager of all my duties.  Some of those choices may be worthy, and some may not.  It doesn’t really matter. The more I play roles to con you, stroke my ego, and appease my anxieties, the less I am looking at you, thinking about you, getting to know you, or learning to serve you.

Flat roles are invidious weeds that choke the honesty out of relationships. I’ve got to keep Nervous Maiden and Insecure Wifey out of the bedroom, because they sap my marriage of its potential, and focus its resources on my needs, instead of his or ours.  I must keep Super Busy Young Mom out of my relationship with my own mother, lest I deprive her of attention she deserves at this more isolated stage of her life. I’ve got to banish Well Intentioned But Forgetful from my friendships.  Above all else, I must, must, must keep Overstressed Mother of a Herd of Hooligans out of my relationship with my sons, or heaven help them all.

 
Source:  istockphoto

Possibly the worst deception wrought by adopting shallow roles is that I, myself, come to believe in them, to accept the definitions and limitations that I’ve so long projected to others. This form of “losing myself” carries no prize for virtuous self-sacrifice, but only leaves me stuck and starved, pretending and powerless.

What then? Will my round bumps, my glaring self-delusions, run away with the story of my life? Am I casting myself as a supporting character, a pawn in my own existence?

This very defect is one of my psychic curves – this manipulative, self-deceptive streak of mine. I’m emotionally rotund, and convinced I can fool others into believing I’m flat.

And that, if nothing else, makes me funny.

(Round, flat ... couldn't I be svelte?  Is that so much to ask?) 

Source:  istockphoto

As I write and revise the novel of my own existence, how shall I view my unruly protagonist? I can choose contempt, despair, and torn, abandoned pages. Or I can wink and nod next time I catch her pulling her shenanigans, give her a stern lecture, perhaps, and ultimately paint my heroine with empathy, amusement, and delight.

***

What roles do we play?  Or do we play some richly and roundly, and others flat?  For those in which we play flat, why?  Roundly -- why?

Can we say brava to ourselves for the roles in which we are round (smart yet irrational, prudent yet occasionally reckless, etc)?  Maybe even ask our flat characters if they might understudy to the round?

As we write our story, how do we paint ourselves?  A pawn in our existence, or the hero -- with empathy, amusement and delight?  Or a little of both?

After reading Julie's essay, you may want to re-read Jaime Cobb Dubei's:  School's In Session.  As LaNola pointed out in the comment section, Jaime narrates her story purely, neither self-vaunting nor self-deprecatory.

The 'dare to dream' imagery has circles/Venn diagrams.  It's easier to dream when we dream together. Is it also easier to dream when we play 'round', are willing to do things badly/be in beta? 

Comments

[Rebecca]

I'm so glad Julie shared these thoughts and you had her guest post, Whitney. I'm glad to get a glimpse of the conversation I missed out on. When I do live in one of my many roles honestly, flaws and all, it's much more satisfying than holding back because I'm not the superstar I imagine could do so much better in that role.
When I'm flat, I feel far more uneasy and selfish at the end of the day.

[Jenny]

"the worst deception wrought by adopting shallow roles is that I, myself, come to believe in them"
I've fallen into this trap!
I love your thoughts, Whitney and Julie, and work hard at developing the roundness in my life, without tipping over.
When my life is "full," it feels smoother and less edgy.

[Science Teacher Mommy]

How wonderful. The other day on Facebook I updated my status to reflect a lovely afternoon spent in the company of a friend I've had for a long time. I said something to the effect of how pleasant it was to be around somebody with whom you could really be yourself. A few of the comments there caused me some serious reflection about what exactly I meant.

I think I was saying that this particular person had known me (and loved me) so long, that all charade was entirely useless, and not even desirable. A newer friend commented on my status with, "You should always be yourself." I don't know her well enough to see if it was a joke, or a reprimand, or some kind of judgment about whatever subterfuge she thinks I've pulled over on her. I'm still not sure what to think either about what I posted or what was replied.

Last thing, sorry for the length; in the movie "Stranger than Fiction" Will Farrell's character laments that he might be in a tragedy instead of a comedy because it seems that nothing is going right. In the end he sees that while unhappy things happen to him along the way, there is joy to be found. A comedy. So while we strive to be dimensional characters, I think we also need to remember to play the leading roles in our lives, and decide if we will live out a comedy or a tragedy.

[Bonnie Tonita White]

I want to come to Boston and be within each of your circle. I want some of all that fullness in each of you to rub off on me.

[EHD]

At the root of Julie's post is both striving and responsibility. We can be more than we are, and we are responsible for how we allocate ourselves--none of us can be everything, so we should actively choose to be something. I appreciate this reminder that we shouldn't just excuse mediocrity! :-) I also appreciate the reminder of how our assumed roles rub off on small people--I have three boys of my own, and I haven't been a present mother of late.

[Julia]

Kudos again my round friend. I like the symbolism of it and think I'll stop trying to lose this 10 pounds after all.

[Janna]

The idea of "losing oneself" through the playing of various roles is brilliant!

Playing a role is easier - it keeps me from having to do the hard work of "me."

[Margaret Woolley Busse]

Fantastic post. One of my favorites so far. i just read Brooks' latest piece in the times on "Where the Wild Things Are"--he talks about the emerging psychologists' view of how we are a "community of competing selves." http://www.nytimes.com/2009/10/20/opinion/20brooks.html?em
But my question is, how much of what we are, IS what we TELL ourselves we are, precisely because we tell ourselves. Julie describes the dangers of of telling ourselves things that are perhaps negative views of ourselves, but is it OK to be telling yourself that you are something positive, hoping that you are subconsciously striving to be so? I think being self-honest is critical, and I mean that in both senses of the word "critical"--we need to live in reality, but we should also to be careful not to allow our negative realities to undermine our positive potential.
Fascinating discussion.

[Luisa Perkins]

This is one of my favorite D2D posts ever. I'm sure I'll come back and re-read it.

[Lisle]

Julie, dear, I love you.

[Amy Jo]

I too want to be closer to Boston and have all of this rub off on me. It is a well written post, and also one of my favorites.