For 17 years, I have known what it means to have a security blanket. Mickey, my beloved, faded and tear-stained blanket has gone to bed with me every night since I was 2 years old.
But this column is not about how I got rid of Mickey or how security blankets are bad because I will never part with Mickey, and I think he's the best security blanket I could ever ask for. This column is about the other security blankets in my life - the ones that don't look like blankets. The ones that have crept up on me and changed me while I wasn't looking. These are security blankets with which I hope to part.
The other day, I noticed something missing from the front of my backpack: my sorority pin. I had a moment of panic thinking I could not leave my apartment until I found the pin. Scouring various purses to which I may have pinned the proud pink heart during football games, I realized that what I was doing was very, very sad. I was searching so frantically because I didn't want to walk across Grounds without that pin. I needed to be identified with that pin. I needed people to see that pin before they saw me. I stopped searching and left sans heart, but that didn't stop me from wanting it the rest of the day.
Even though I knew I should not have been so worried about a pin, the moment I found it, the pin went back on my backpack. I was insecure without the symbol and didn't even know I was until the pin went missing. I was befuddled. When did this happen?
After the pin incident, I found that Mickey was far from the only one who kept me secure. My phone is a blanket, too: If I'm alone on a bus for more than two minutes, I find myself texting useless observations to my friends - for example, "this girl next to me has really big hair." If I'm walking to class, I'll call my mother and pretend to be engrossed in conversation so that no one will bother me with small talk. Sadly, my mother has caught on to the fact that I use her for this, and she no longer talks to me if she can hear cars in the background. So I walk, and I text. Dangerous, but oh so secure.
I even wrap myself in past life experiences to protect myself from bad days in the present. My sister tells me some guy did something nice for her while I glare and wonder how she managed that. And I immediately pull up that time that some guy did something nice for me. It existed, it happened. I'm safe.
Perhaps the worst thing I use to reaffirm my existence and security in the world is Facebook. In fact, after typing the word "Facebook" here, I checked mine - the mere sight of the word triggers a reaction. I am cringing at how pathetic I am. Yet no matter how much I cringe, I'm still uploading pictures when I get cute shots from a night out. I'm still updating my info page so I sound as witty and slightly crude and deeply insightful as I want everyone to think I am.
This summer I deactivated my Facebook for one weekend, thinking I could finally live in the real world. After peering over my sister's shoulder for two days, I simply reactivated mine and changed my status. I felt out of touch with the world when I didn't have one. And sadly, I felt out of touch with myself. Who was I if I was not a picture and a phrase and a certain number of friends?
I need my pin because it shows that I am part of a group. I am accepted by a lot of people. I am not anonymous. I need my phone because it protects me from silence. Sans texts and phone calls - but preferably texts because talking on the phone scares me more often than not - I would be alone. I need my past because I can just live in it if the present doesn't suit me. I need a social networking site so I can feel worthy: If my pictures are "liked," then so am I.
I don't want these blankets. Mainly because they're suffocating me. (Who needs that many?!) But they also don't even serve the purpose I want them to. My sister tells me, "No one is looking at you." And she's right. Most people are so caught up in their own pins and phones and Facebook profiles that they could care less what I represent.
I'm not getting rid of any of my security measures but I might try to think about them differently. If I can be as free in public as I am with Mickey, then I think things will end up all right. If I can run around my apartment with Mickey as a cape because I got an A and I want him - yep, gendered blanket - to celebrate, too, then I can run around Alderman without my pin. If I can cry into a blanket when things go wrong, then I can accept that things go wrong in the present and stop living in my past. There are all kinds of things I can do, as long as I have my security blanket tucked under my arm at night.
Connelly's column runs weekly Thursdays. She can be reached at c.hardaway@cavalierdaily.com.
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