Being Different

In front of the mirror, the Cog appreciates himself. In the glass his imperfections become trophies, his oddities and eccentricities become treasures. He has no hope, no aspirations, of being that perfectly proportioned part of the machine and that makes him all the more ecstatic. Though he might not have a place, he has his self, and what else could one ask for besides ownership, acceptance and happiness of the self.

In front of the mirror, the Cog has confidence. The Cog knows that, despite all history, despite the rejection and the depression and the unhappiness of the past, right now he is happy. He preens for his reflection and the reflection returns the gesture. He has bumps and pits and he has edges that are too rough and edges that are too round, but he doesn’t care. Or he does care, but only in that these make him special, different, commendable and therefore important.

Unfortunately, he knows that it won’t last. The cog knows that he’ll have to return, back to the machine, back to the other cogs.

When he is where he belongs, the Cog becomes a cog.

While he’s there, all the imperfections that he once celebrated will become reviled. He will be ground down to fit in, made painfully aware of how different he is, how he would never fit in.

There, mashed into place, stuffed where he belongs, a cog feels most alone.