by Patrick Caneday

Created on: March 17, 2009

As with most things in my life, I was a mediocre Scout. That is, until my older brother retired from the ranks.

No, his departure did not cause me to step out from his shadow and rise to new heights of public service. He was a mediocre Scout as well. But his retirement left a uniform filled with badges, beads and buttons, unused in the closet. Soon I added his decorations to my own. Patton would have wished he was so honored. At my next den meeting, I strode in jangling, surveying the troops, missing only a sword, the envy of all the other 10-year-olds.

I was never an outstanding athlete nor a great student. I am not giving Ward Cleaver a run for his money as a father and husband either. That's not to say I am particularly bad at anything (except maybe basketball). But ever since I was a teenager, there have always been two words I thought best described me: remarkably average.

Looking back at my life I've been stealing the uniforms of other people all along. Characters in books and movies, the stereotypical images that society paints for us and tells us are the ideal.

In the '80s I tried to be Don Johnson in "Miami Vice;" clad in pastel cotton jackets with the sleeves rolled up, the occasional Panama hat and big, wavy hair to die for. In the early '90s, after graduating from film school, I was the brilliant struggling filmmaker who just needed a break; the guy who would wash a film executive's car for the chance to pitch a story; the next Steven Soderbergh. In the late '90s I was the world traveler, liver of life to the fullest. I scribbled my wisdom on note pads from the pubs of London to the tea houses of the Himalayas doing my best Hemingway imitation.

I have a theory that despite what we project externally, internally we all carry the image of ourselves we had in high school like unsightly luggage we are afraid to claim off the carousel lest others see. At least I hope this is true, or else I have just made a bigger dolt of myself than even I think I am. For most of us, this is the image of a socially awkward, self-conscious dreamer, afraid that others will see through our veil to the real, boring and ugly person inside. If you don't fit into that category, high school was probably the high watermark of your life. Congratulations.

Why do we do this? Why do we punish ourselves for being different and strive so hard to be like everyone else? Why don't we believe we deserve happiness or peace without paying some great price? Why are we afraid to bare our souls

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