“To be yourself in a world that is constantly trying to make you something else is the greatest accomplishment.” —Ralph Waldo Emerson
So many reasons to hide behind the truth. So much pressure to morph, modify, and redesign. Chameleons changing colors to blend in with the landscape, desperate not to be noticed. Finding shadows and shade in the sun to flee the spotlight. Hooded sweatshirts and heads hung low, making the most of anonymity. Turning a corner before inevitable interactions and pretending invisibility is an imperative.
Why?
What is waiting in the dark, so creepily creeping? What is making the notion of comfortably wearing your own skin seem like such a daunting proposition? Why do the opinions and feedback of others dictate your fundamental choices?
We seem more willing to disappear into cookie-cutter molds of conformity than to own our personal truth…nicks and scratches, flaws and foibles be damned. But constantly donning clothes that don’t fit invites more than chafing. There is a systematic breakdown of truth and authenticity inside that dearth of personal power, and each clumsy stride in shoes that are two sizes too small is another lost lap in the race.
So toss the mask aside, step into the sun, and say what’s on your mind. Leave the self-censoring and code-switching at the curb. Not everyone will like you, and that’s okay. Mass acceptance is wildly overrated.
It may feel a bit jarring at first, but I can promise this: You’ll instantly gain at least one new fan.
Recently, I was on the tennis court (try to suppress your shock), working on some forehand targeting with the ball machine, and I overheard a conversation on the next court that shed an even brighter spotlight on something that I feel on a daily basis.
A married couple was hitting balls with their daughter. Mom and Dad were on one side of the net, and the daughter was on the other.
There is an area of the tennis court between the baseline and the service box that is generally referred to as “no man’s land.” A player is too close to the net to comfortably hit a groundstroke and too far from the net to hit a clean volley. This area is generally avoided because it puts a player immediately on the defensive and prevents any momentum toward a “striking” strategy.
It’s easy to get caught in “no man’s land” with bad footwork, a lack of anticipation, or poor court awareness. It happens, but it usually results in the loss of a point or, at the very least, some sloppy, haphazard ball striking in a desperate attempt at recovery.
Anyway…this dad was giving his wife (who he nauseatingly kept calling “Mom”) some grief and a playful ribbing by calling her out on her constant drifting into “no man’s land.” His daughter was able to easily send shots right past her and keep her on the back foot because of her poor positioning.
At one point, the dad took a beat and proudly shouted, “You’re standing there so much, instead of no man’s land, we should call it Mom’sLand.”
I kid you not, this “mom” literally doubled over with laughter, dropped her racquet on the ground, and guffawed so intensely she could barely take in oxygen. Between streaming tears of hysterical howling, she kept repeating the words “Mom’s Land” like it was the funniest and most clever thing she’s ever heard.
Now, even on my most generous scale, this “joke” was a D-, at best. It wasn’t funny, witty, original, entertaining, or sharp in any possible way, on any possible planet.
But this woman reacted like she was sharing a court with Delirious-era Eddie Murphy. I stood, stone-faced, utterly baffled at how anyone could possibly find this man and his “comedy” even remotely amusing.
It was hard to hide my transparently confused, obvious physical reaction to this utter lack of humor, but this episode served as further supporting evidence of the constant sense of total disconnection I feel in a world I can’t seem to understand.
So many people seem to be functioning in a general state of mild acceptance and easy conformity…and boy, do the laughs come aplenty when the bar rests mere inches from the ground.
Ignorance is bliss, and we have a society doing everything in its power to keep that blindfold tightly secured.
I suppose it’s a choice between living inside a carefully curated Matrix-style simulation or the conscious, deliberate effort to embrace the world as it is, with all its naked pain and bruises and torture and lies.
But I’m a Taurus, so when the option to select a pill presents itself, the bull will always choose red.
In a world of artificiality and pretense, there is a heavy value placed on authenticity. Pull back the curtain, peel off the filter, and slide down the mask. Let us see who you really are. Be brave enough to shine and showcase. We’ll all applaud your courage and welcome you into this incessantly judgmental society with wide open arms. No one will snicker or jeer, roll their eyes, or whisper a whiff of denigration. Climb into this giant velvety warm blanket of unconditional acceptance and approval. You’re finally safe. You’re finally home.
Then the alarm sounds and the dream ceases to exist.
It seems as though we want “realness” only when it settles comfortably into our preconceived concepts of conformity. When boundaries are blurred or the delineation between normal and abnormal gets a little fuzzy, we get antsy.
A degree of flexibility is needed to achieve cultural balance, and those muscles only get looser with the deep-stretch duo of time and education. It is a gradual, steady progression. Any significant historical change is measured in millennia not minutes.
The prescription is not to abandon the trek but to find more forgiving terrain. There is power in the plodding and nothing worth achieving is ever accomplished quickly or without pain.
So keep pushing, keep fighting, and keep exploring ways to solidify the concrete around your feet. Stay connected to the earth and remain grounded.
