I have often been told on movie sets that I am a laid-back boss. People describe me as calm, measured, and even somewhat quiet. From the outside, that may very well be how I appear. What most people do not see, however, is the internal experience that sometimes accompanies that exterior. There are moments when what appears calm is actually camouflage.
It is the practiced ability to appear composed while something far more chaotic unfolds internally. Anxiety can behave like a storm contained within a sealed room. From the outside, nothing moves. Inside, everything is spinning.
For many years I did not fully recognize this dynamic because I was so accustomed to it. When a certain level of internal tension becomes normal, it blends into the background. It becomes the climate rather than the weather. But there was a moment not long ago when enough stillness emerged for me to actually observe it. In that quiet moment I became aware of just how intense the internal experience could be. It was unsettling, almost like meeting a stranger who happened to be living inside my own head. My outward demeanor remained composed, but internally it felt as if a tornado had formed. The contrast between the two states was jarring. For a brief moment it bordered on what could have become a panic attack. Fortunately, I was able to recognize what was happening before it spiraled too far. That recognition — that small moment of awareness — may represent progress. Catching the experience early prevented it from gaining momentum.
Still, the sensation triggered memories of an earlier period in my life when depersonalization and derealization were my baseline. During those years the world often felt slightly unreal, as though I were observing my own life from a distance rather than fully inhabiting it. I often describe that feeling as being a ghost in a meat suit, watching a projection of someone else’s previously recorded life while being completely aware that what I am experiencing is happening in the present, in real time. The memory of this is quite vivid. Reality remains intact, but the emotional connection to it becomes strangely muted or distorted. You function, you work, you interact with people, yet everything carries a faint echo of distance. I never want to return to that place. Perhaps that is why these moments of internal turbulence command my attention now. They are reminders that the mind is capable of drifting toward that territory if left completely unattended.
The irony is that the ability to camouflage these experiences has been useful in professional settings. Film production environments can be stressful, unpredictable places. Maintaining a calm presence can stabilize the atmosphere around you. When others perceive steadiness, they often respond with steadiness themselves. In that sense, the camouflage serves a purpose. But it also raises an important question: how much of our outward personality is simply a strategy for navigating the world?
Being “laid-back” may be genuine in many respects, but it may also be a form of emotional architecture — a structure built to contain storms that others cannot see. Perhaps the goal is not to eliminate the storm entirely. Human beings are complex, emotional systems. Anxiety, doubt, and fear are part of the machinery. The real progress may lie in noticing the weather early enough to keep it from becoming a natural disaster. Calmness does not always mean the absence of turbulence. Sometimes it simply means the storm has learned how to stay behind the glass.