For Those Looking to Be Different

In the first half of my twenties I was two different people. During the week at work I wore a baseball cap, nerdy glasses, and a stained raggedy shirt with caffeine flowing through my anxious veins. But on the weekends I wore contacts, slicked my hair back, and wore a button-up collared shirt with a concoction of Red Bull and vodka (and perhaps some other things) coursing through my bloodstream. I was a different man. A man who was calm, cool, and collected. I figured this was how I’d find a woman, sending out an inebriated representative of a false self. Ironically enough, it worked. I found my wife in Las Vegas of all places, or at least my representative did. But once we started dating and she saw the reality of who I was, she was startled. To this day she jokes with me how she thought she’d met this extremely chill and relaxed guy only to find out I was an anxious mess like the rest of us. But alas, it was too late, she’d swooned under my irresistible charm. 

Of course, this is not some new revelation about humanity I’m discussing. It’s as old as ancient fig leaves. But culturally we learn to display this truth about our inner workings and their deficiencies in innovative ways. Alongside this, we utilize entertainment to convey the ancient fig leaf narrative in a creatively incisive manner, the latest of which is A Different Man. It’s a film that speaks volumes about the marginalization of those with disabilities and disfigurements and yet has a word that cuts through to all of humanity’s deep issues. It speaks to the inner turmoil found inside each and every one of us, if we’re being honest with ourselves.

A Different Man is a recent film about a man named Edward (played by newly Golden Globe winner, Sebastian Stan) with neurofibromatosis, a genetic disorder where tumors form on nerve endings. These tumors appear especially on his face causing disfigurement and, as a result, an insecure, low self-esteem Edward. This all changes when hope arrives through a new treatment of which Edward becomes a test patient. Through a seemingly excruciating process Edward’s disfigurement is healed and he begins a life of “normalcy” as a rather handsome and good-looking man. Yet, when Oswald (played by Adam Pearson who actually has neurofibromatosis) shows up in Edward’s life, it is revealed that perhaps Edward is not as healed as he thinks. 

Oswald has obviously dealt with similar feelings as Edward concerning their condition, even though he seems to have travelled down a different route. It appears as if Oswald has learned to accept who he is and lives an abundant life. He does yoga in the park, performs karaoke, is rather outgoing and friendly, and easily makes friends. Women are drawn to him and he’s a talented actor. He even begins to catch the eye of Edward’s crush, who was beginning to like him before his procedure. This sends Edward into an existential crisis. While he’s changed dramatically externally, internally he has left a lot of stones unturned. This film speaks volumes about body disfigurement, but it also screams into the human condition. 

Writer and director Aaron Schimberg admits he found himself in an identity crisis upon meeting Adam Pearson when they worked on their first project together, Chained for Life. Schimberg, who thought his cleft palate served as a life deterrent, said: 

Meeting Adam, who doesn’t seem to let anything hold him back, who is the life of a party wherever he goes, it inspired me, but it also gave me an identity crisis: What could I have done differently? Have I been wrong this whole time about myself? Could I have live my life differently? Is it still possible for me to live my life differently? Do I want to live my life differently?

These questions are not foreign to us. All of us are not only prone to insecurities but are practically destined for them. Our culture either feeds into our instability through unrealistic standards of beauty, unreachable levels of wealth and happiness, or through unattained virtues by the signaling of those who somehow attained them. Conversely, we feed into insecurities by not addressing them when the culture champions the dereliction of such aims. Both are an angle on externalities and avoid an internal examination. Whether we strive for gratifying our insecurities or shake our fist at the Goliath-sized measuring sticks, we miss the aching and longing heart which is the beating war drum to this human battle. 

While this external-internal battle has ramifications for all realms of our life, it speaks volumes to our spiritual and religious condition. For thousands of years religion has been a helpful aid to civilization for the moral structuring of society (and contributed plenty of troubling ails too). But so often it leads us to the same predicament as Edward finds himself in — externally beautified, but internally blemished. This was Jesus’ diagnosis of the religious leaders of his time, his infamous defining term: whitewashed tombs. An attractive exterior yet lifeless interior. His prognosis lacked hope for the supposed shepherds of the people. It’s the same thread Luther was pulling on when he wrote:

It does not help the soul if the body wears the sacred robe of a priest or visits holy places or performs sacred duties or prays, fasts, and refrains from certain types of foods. The soul receives no help from any work connected with the body. Such activity does not lead to freedom and righteousness for the soul. The works just mentioned could have been done by any wicked person and produce nothing but hypocrites.

This is the spotless room with the closet full of Magna-Tiles and miscellaneous Lego pieces. The freshly washed, Armor All-ed car with the floor-mats covered in the remains of stale Goldfish and car seat tarnished with milk residue. That one annoying family on Instagram that you just know buries horrendous secrets between the gaps in their posts. My own hidden (somewhat) body disfigurement of two different-sized ears covered by long hair in middle school. It’s all of us with our aching, insecure hearts grasping for any and all external balms. No outside calls for getting our act together or securing our insecurities will fix this persistent complication of life. Schimberg notes his film was not an attempt to provide an admonitory answer:

I tried to take the morality out of it. What happens is not him being punished for doing this thing. It comes with some positive things and some negative things and some neutral outcomes. It changes his life, and it doesn’t change his life. It’s all, really, a reflection of who he was before.

And furthermore, it’s a reflection of all of us. A familiar word which also captures this reflection is the law. That revealing word which reflects reality back to us. Oswald has a line in the film which succinctly speaks this word: “Let’s just all start being honest with ourselves, old friend.” It is here the word of the gospel speaks so soundly. 

The gospel is the inverse of our quandary, the hopeful solution to humanity’s blessed cursedness. Internal to external. A salve for the aching heart. It meets our insecurities and wraps them up in a word of grace, not excusing or placating them but suffering them. There is no dress-up of the exterior in the hopes it will infiltrate us and we set aside childish rebellion against the reflection we see. It’s the word of hope that helps us realize a mirror isn’t the only piece of furniture in the room. In fact, in my Father’s house there are many rooms. Kitchens, playrooms, and even cozy reading nooks. And so our heart aches not on its own but in the hands of another. Through this divine work, something truly different is born.