I was on a vacation once, a class trip with some of my closest friends at the time. While at a beach side store, we began trying on sunglasses, the kind of excuse to make a ridiculous face to your friend that seems like the funniest thing in the world. On a whim, I grabbed a pair of silver mirrored sunglasses to try on. I glanced into a nearby mirror before turning to show those around me, and my face fell into its natural stony gaze for a moment. And I shocked myself. My hand began to shake softly, not enough for anyone to see. It was ridiculous, but I felt like I had discovered something. No one could see my eyes; no one could read me. In an overwhelming rush that deeply confused me, I felt an enormous release of joy; a great weight had been lifted off my back. This is a truly ridiculous reaction to a pair of sunglasses, but in that moment, I was so relieved at the chance to hide my face.

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A mask can be enticing. My experience with sunglasses is so literal as to be entirely stupid, but my fascination with masks is enduring. The movie I am most deeply moved by is about the power of a mask. The rhetoric in that case argued that masks empowered. That a man is only a man, but the mask is a symbol. And symbols are more enduring than mortal man. A mask, by this thinking, can embody an idea, and link the mortal to something unattainable, unachievable. The mask has elevated an individual to the immortal. I love this rhetoric. It strikes to the core of the hero mythology, the refusal of the mundane and mortal for a greater destiny, grander than any single man. It appeals to the core of who I am, and that is why it is so dangerous.

"All the world’s a stage,

And all the men and women merely players;

They have their exits and their entrances,

And one man in his time plays many parts," -Shakespeare, As You Like It II.vii

As much as I dream of heroes, my dreams are all escapism. Heroes as we conceive of them do not exist in real life. I am referring to that perfect form seen in mythologies and movies, the archetype described by Joseph Campbell as having a thousand faces. Archetypes are idealized, yet formless. You cannot hold onto them, or feel them in reality. Even the movie and comic-book of my adoration which so espouses the power of a mask still explores the downfall of the man who wishes to be a symbol. To become an archetype he has to give up his life, his love, his individuality. My yearning for a mask is a desire to not exist.

"you have three faces. The first face, you show to the world. The second face, you show to your close friends, and your family. The third face, you never show anyone. It is the truest reflection of who you are." -unknown

On a very simple level, I find that my fears have coalesced into this concept of a mask. My fear of other people. A heightened self-consciousness has formed into this image of a mask behind which to find my face. In every aspect of my life I have been keenly aware of the view and opinion of those around me. My worry over what others think has colored my perception of the world. I have spoken of this before and expressed it through poetry. Even in moments of great stress, or perhaps especially in such moments, I feel the weight of eyes on me. When I grieved for my grandparents, the weight was there, in the back of my mind. I worried that I was not grieving properly. Or more specifically, that I wasn’t appearing to grieve properly. In moments of difficulty, my greatest desire is to hide my face from the world.

I realize this sounds ridiculous, so let me bring this idea down to a more reasonable level. We all lie constantly. I don't mean that in a cynical sense, or in a voice of moral condemnation. I don’t want everyone to constantly tell the truth. But we, as humans existing in a society, have decided on a pattern of inane questions with stock responses. We call this small talk. Take a moment to consider next time you talk to a coworker or acquaintance, how many words you can exchange without actually communicating anything. At one point in my life I hated this. I was infuriated at the falseness of everyone around me, in very Holden Caulfield-esque arrogance. Now I relish the chance to hide behind meaningless words. It’s one more opportunity to hide my true face. We all pretend to be something. When you were young you saw a movie or someone you look up to, and your definition of cool was born. And you try to emulate the way you think people should act, and you’ve been trying to copy that form your entire life. It’s an act so constant and complete that you probably have forgotten what you are emulating. But we’re all still acting, trying to live up to an ideal that only exists in our minds, the power behind the throne of our skull-sized kingdoms.

“We are what we pretend to be, so we must be careful about what we pretend to be.” -Kurt Vonnegut

Now comes the part where I give you advice. Though I have no answers, it would be rude of me to define a problem and then walk away. So here it is: vulnerability. To be truly honest with another human being is a beautiful thing, because it is the purest expression of love of which I am aware. Being honest about the big things is difficult. The types of things that you don’t even want to think about. Expressing the facets of your character you don’t feel are attractive, or interesting, or worthy, is the only way to reach out. The alternative is to live in the shade of a mask.

“Sometimes we have to step out of our comfort zones. We have to break the rules. And we have to discover the sensuality of fear. We need to face it, challenge it, dance with it.”
― Kyra Davis

~~~~~

Bad Poem of the Week:

My Sky

The moon is far too beautiful

For my sky;

Far too beautiful

For an evening spent alone.

This October night sings

With the thrum of the last cicadas

And the intermittent notes of the wind chimes;

The summer sounds which make a cold beer

Taste like home.

The moon speaks with the clouds,

A dialogue of light and shadow on a stage high above.

The stars watch from the balcony,

And down here in the cheap seats

A dog snuffles at my hand, reminding

Me that writing is the last thing you should be doing

When sitting on a deck beneath a full moon.