The Beauty of Masks…

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Imposter. That word along with phony, fake, and fraudulent keeps popping into my head. While I talk, while I walk. Bullshitter. Joke. I’m so aware of myself lately. Like watching myself happen.

Y’know those days of insecurity and doing it all wrong while everyone thinks you’re doing it right? And not just doing it right, but doing it great! Some days I believe them too! Shit, I am doing it great! Because I am still doing it. I’m still getting up everyday even though I’m always so tired. I’m still going to work at the job I’ve fallen out of love with.

But when do we lose that excitement and determination  of making our lives what we want them to be? Too many obstacles on the course? Too many times we fell down when we seemed to be strolling along just fine?

When I think about the weeks right before and right after Noah died, I hear a record needle scratch loudly in my head. Old school 78rpm vinyl. Like suddenly stopping that ride on the playground while it’s spinning and then forcing it to spin in the other direction. Redirect. It’s hard as hell.

What version of me is this? This version is feeling panic. I want it all to fall into place and stay in place. But it doesn’t work like that, does it? Nope. So reinvent. Spin it in the other direction, even though the resistance is strong. TRYING is where the excitement comes from.

As my friend, also named Erica, would say …”Fake it ’til you make it!” and then she’d add in some filthy curse words and we’d LOL via text and go about our days.

 

 

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