Self-Production for the Average Office Worker

I went to a nearby park today. Just strolling along.

While drinking a canned tea called 'Sinful Tea.' You know, that super sweet, great-value one you can get from a vending machine. You should try it.

There was a father and his child already at the park.
The son, Ren-kun (7 years old), was wearing a hoodie that was half green and half yellow in the middle, with white shorts.
The father, in his 30s, was wearing a gray sweater from a high-end brand (what even is that?) and tight jeans.
The son was landing low kicks on his father's right leg, while the father was on a phone call.

His voice was high-pitched: 'Oh, thanks for your hard work, this is so-and-so.'
The son was low, the father was high.

And it got me thinking.
The father's clothing, his movements, the tone of his conversation.
Everything had become a 'work of art' called himself.
He was really doing it. In a good way.

A company business card.
A suit.
Social media (a father who looks like he takes photos holding a fish in his right hand while wearing sunglasses. I actually saw that Instagram account, by the way).
Presentations are monologues, and meetings are improv.
Flattering the boss is a well-honed, air-reading, foolproof killer phrase.

In modern society, office workers might just be the greatest actors and producers of all.

And what's interesting is—most of them aren't even aware of that 'performance'.
There is nothing scarier than unconscious self-presentation.
Because a performance that isn't recognized as a performance looks all the more authentic.
(You, reading this right now.
You're one of the people who realizes it, aren't you? Ooh, boom!!!)

Theater people are professionals who constantly monitor the 'self that is playing a role'.
Most of society continues to play the fiction of their 'true self,' but since it's our job to be fully aware of that and still make it look natural, it's fascinating.
It's a wonderful job.

When the father finishes work, maybe the day after tomorrow, and walks down the station stairs.
He might suddenly remember the pain of his son's low kicks.
In that moment, his 'role' peels away just a little bit.
That might be the beautiful moment of what it means to be human.

And I thought that we theater people should capture those kinds of moments and elevate them into art.