When I was a boy, I had no identity. All of my classmates had some kind of
online persona, which represented who they were, and what they enjoyed.
Their usernames reflected these attributes, be it a love for football, or
all things Star Wars. I didn’t care about anything in particular, or have
any special way of setting myself apart from others. I suppose that’s what
it really comes down to, that I was not special. Ya know, I liked watching
the news, and not because I wanted to become a reporter when I was older,
but I’ve always been more interested in the goingson of real life than
fiction, or other forms of entertainment. But NewsBoy1994 seemed like a dumb
and boring name that I didn’t want to use. One day, I was flipping through
my favorite news and documentary channels, hoping to learn something new,
when I came across a nature show about the lynx, and it gave me an idea.
Maybe I am a lynx. And not because of the animal’s particular behavior, or
the way that they look. Maybe it’s just arbitrary. I could call it my spirit
animal, and claim to others that I just really like lynxes. I felt like a
fraud, but no one else appeared to have any problem with it. He likes
lynxes. Whatever, doesn’t matter to me. I didn’t get ridiculed or
questioned, and everything went well. Over time, these creative online
identities faded away. Social media allowed you to connect directly to your
friends and contacts, but also just say things for the world to absorb at
will. Real life has become trendy. People can read your posts if they want
to, and on their own time. Many are using real identities now, because for
most, it’s the closest we’ll get to fame, and we don’t want to hide
ourselves under a layer of anonymity. Our friends can’t find us if they
don’t know enough about us. Even then, is PermaLynx94 the guy you’re looking
for, or some random stranger who also happens to like lynxes?
I shed my lynx identity, and moved on with my life. It was a lot easier for
me than for others, I imagine. Some still probably weren’t too butthurt
about it, since they were no longer so obsessed with the pastimes of their
youth, and were glad to grow up. I didn’t care at all, because I never
really cared about lynxes. It’s probably better now that people have to look
deeper than my name if they want to know who I am. I got into hiking, which
is something I never thought I would do. I probably would have tried to
figure out some kind of clever walking pun back in the day if I had realized
who I was at a younger age. I still like the news, and don’t care for
fiction. I don’t have a problem with it on principle, but I watch Star Wars,
and just don’t feel a damn thing for those people. This week, I’m
backpacking alone in the woods, in the freezing cold of Canada. This is
where I find my zen, away from people, and all of their noises. Things are
going fine until I slip on a wet rock, and over the edge of the cliff. I
hang onto a root, just hoping it doesn’t give. The drop is bout about six
meters down, so I’ll live, but I’ll break bones, and not be able to leave. I
have to find a way to lift myself up. Now I wish I had once identified as
PullupDude69. As I’m hanging there, mere moments from a slow death, a lynx
trots up and stares down at me. We study each other’s eyes, and don’t move a
muscle. Suddenly, I’m no longer on the brink, but in some kind of tranquil
and balanced serenityscape. We watch each other for an eternity, and then my
spirit animal graciously provides me with the strength I need to pull myself
up, and survive.
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