Anatomy of a WIB

"I can't remember which one I'm supposed to be wearing."

I was logging into my Blogger account the other day when I saw the following: Choose an identity.  Well gee whiz Blogger, would it were that simple.  I would very much like to choose an identity, but after a quarter of a century I’m still having trouble pinning it down.  The past year I learned from men that I am, at any given time, too pretty, too intellectual, too clever, too moody, too frustrating, too creative, too stubborn, too ambitious, too emotional, too insecure, too opinionated, too much.  I try not to internalize these observations, but who are we kidding?  Of course I internalize them.  We all do. 

                And so we play games, wear masks, hide behind who I think I should be or who you think I should be or who I think you think I should be.  The future of the makeup industry depends upon it.  The whole thing gives me a headache.  We have to do it though.  Because we can’t let our guard down, be vulnerable. We learned very early on that vulnerability is the quickest route to heartbreak. 

                Maybe those guys are right.  Maybe I am too much.  Okay, no maybes about it.  When I am not fabulously effervescent I am ridiculously annoying.  But here’s the thing.  Aren’t we all just a little bit too much?  Deep down, aren’t we all afraid that if we drop the masks and unleash the full force of our personalities on another human being they will run screaming into the night?  

Here's what our response should be: to hell with 'em. I just want to be me.  If that’s not good enough for any of us, so be it.  

Unfortunately that is way easier said than done, and I for one am nowhere near being able to make such a declaration.  Which is a shame.  Throwing away all those masks would sure clear up a lot of closet space.