Paul Ryder is a 4 year senior from St. Louis, Missouri. He is a co-President of Festival and Chamber Choruses and is currently in the spring musical “No, No, Nanette.” His hobbies include reading and filmmaking. He plans on attending University of St. Andrews in Scotland next year.
No question is more important in the development of the human species than “who am I?” This goes all the way back to the Greeks, whose great saying was “know thyself.” But identity is especially important in these years, when our new status as adults grants us independence, maturity, and responsibility and in an age when outside forces are more than ever trying to fit our generation into groups for their own purposes. Finding my identity has been a particular struggle for me, for I cannot quickly affix myself to any single one. But finally, after four years through the meat grinder that is Choate Rosemary Hall, I believe that I do know myself, and that I know the few words that describe me best: I am Paul Ryder.
Coming to this conclusion was not as easy as you may think. When I arrived at Choate I understood the world of high school mainly through movies like The Breakfast Club, Mean Girls, and American Pie. From these movies I concluded that there were various groups of students known as “cliques,” and somehow all the students were robbed of any complexity and either fell into one of these groups or became outcasts for life. While Choate does not truly have the simplistic groups or social hierarchies that John Hughes imagined, it would be foolish to deny that people have come together over such common interests as sports, theater, or even race. So as a freshman I figured that it was up to me to try to join one of these groups so that I could give myself an identity.
Going down the list, I could definitely cross out a jock. Looking at me, you will agree that I have neither the arc like biceps nor the meaty calves to compete with any of the varsity teams, besides maybe archery. It doesn’t help that as a freshman I got cut from both the thirds squash and thirds tennis teams, and for good reason (my tryouts were not a pretty sight). I did become a runner, which I consider a sport despite some disagreements, and I attained a small amount of success on the cross-country and track teams. Furthermore, I became friends with many of the good athletes through these sports. Yet I knew I would always be out of their league with my measly 20 pound barbells in the gym next to their unimaginable 65 pounders. In addition, I never felt comfortable in the mindset of a jock, with such nuances like the excessive drive for victory at all costs, the mind-numbing and physically exhausting drills, or the subtle homoeroticism in the locker room. Thus, for these reasons I could never, ever, be an athlete.
At the other end of the spectrum are the virtually unathletic smart kids. At Choate this is a very ambiguous group because our school is fortunate to have many brilliant students, both athletic and unathletic. After leaving my old school at the top of my class, I was flabbergasted at the amount of people that were smarter than me. What struck me even more was that in many ways work ethic had little to do with it. Both the hardest-working and the laziest kids I have ever met are both amazing. I feel guilty to stick to old stereotypes, but many of the kids in this group do happen to have some sort of affiliation with the Asian continent. And by looking at me you can clearly tell that I don’t belong in that group either. But the differences are more than skin-deep. For one, I struggle at the medium level of Guitar Hero and I have never even played World of Warcraft. And it’s clear that you don’t really belong there when the Koreans switch languages and I have both the fear that they are talking smack about me and the wish that I had subtitles in my head. So I clearly didn’t belong in that group.
What about the kids who virtually live at the PMAC? Considering my background as a choirboy, this group was my best bet to belong to. Yet when I came to Choate, I wanted something different than to be a musician again. So in pursuit of the failed ventures I previously described I ignored this group for a few years. Of course I have done my share of performing, both as a singer and as an actor. But because I spent so much time trying to fit into the other cliques that I really didn’t belong to, I alienated the one I was probably closest to. So while this group certainly accepted me I didn’t really feel that my identity was here either.
For a long time I thought that I was part of no group. That realization terrified me. I had believed that I could only truly thrive if I found my place in Choate. Thus I feared that because I had nothing to align myself with, my existence here would be meaningless and purposeless. I felt lost and disconnected from everyone, though at the same time I had really gained many friends from all these different groups at Choate. At dinner, I would sit with whole different types of people in the dining hall. So I didn’t feel rejected by any of the groups. In fact I felt accepted everywhere but I belonged nowhere.
But suddenly, I had an epiphany: I didn’t need to truly stick with any of these groups at all. I realized that identity shouldn’t come from being part of certain groups, but carving out my own niche. The only person I ever was, and could ever be, is me. I wasn’t lost from everyone, but instead created a path that only I could follow. If I tried to force myself into a group then I would be living a lie. The only way to live is to be true to myself, and I can do that by being me. I am Paul Ryder, the guy who knows lots of useless crap about movies, had a 5 minute make-out session on stage, and has his own theme song. So in the end I have embraced my individualism and my own special identity, and I call myself nothing else but Paul Ryder.
