Hello friend,

"All the world's a stage." The first time I heard those words was in a stage adaptation of Pinocchio. I played that kid that convinces Pinocchio to run off to the island of partying that leads to a wonderful transformation into a donkey (Candlewick in Disney's, though I think it was Dipstick in this particular adaptation).

All the world's a stage. We all wore masks that made us look like marionette puppets, to some degree. After the show, when I would come to greet my undying fan base (thanks Mom and Grandma) it was easy for everyone to make a distinction between when the mask was on and when the mask was off. An outward sign of a change in character. Easy.

Perhaps you've realized where this heavy handed metaphor is going. Allow me to build it further.

If all the world's a stage, then we must be its players. If we are its players, then who are we playing? Now, I'm not trying to say that everyone walks around as a puppet, or to imply that people aren't genuine. But, everyone I have met wears a façade to some degree. Some have thin ones that dissolve quickly. Some wear ones closer to lead; heavy to wear and hard to remove.

All the world's a stage. I adopted this to some degree in middle school. The dance with others had begun; to stay in the light and hide the character flaws.

So, what is off-stage if everywhere you go is onstage? What rack do you hang your mask on? You don't, and so the only refuge is inside. To retreat inwards is to hold yourself close, to memorize monologues that beg to be read but you can't seem to find the right audience.

All the world’s a stage. At the end, the audience will applaud the actors for giving them the show they wanted. Standing ovations for the perfect performance.

Somewhere along the way, I forgot that the audience also applauds because Pinocchio becomes a real boy. All that seems to prevail is that-

All the world's a stage. In my narrative, I've always been a supporting character, someone there for people to learn something from, and then move onto their next act. I've forgotten that sometimes it's okay to call “line.” I've forgotten that while metaphors and dancing are safe, they still create distance.

All of the above is still a dance. A choice of how much I want to share and how much I don't. A fine line that we all walk when dealing with new scenarios and people. For me, I have stoppered up a decent amount of my own personal feelings that are negative because I have been trod on before. Whilst I want to talk about “getting over things” in the future, I bring this up to point out that I don't let my mask down a lot. Sharing the darkness became synonymous with hurting others or having myself hurt. Looking around and seeing smiles, I never wanted to be the cause of a frown or conflict, because that can be a slippery conversational slope.

To some degree, I still do believe sharing your inner thoughts with everyone can be dangerous. I've known several people over my life that fed off of the dark stories of others and loved to use those bits to gossip and draw attention to themselves while divulging the darkness that does not belong to them. Those types of people are good to avoid. Having some sort of philter is smart when dealing with those sorts of people.

The problem can be that heavy masks are blinding. You assume that everyone else’s mask holds the ability to hurt you, like others have through the ages.

It's unfair to the people that love you. I have been unfair to a lot of the people that have loved me because I didn't believe them when they said that.

But, if all the world's a stage, then every play is unique. Every character, even if they have similarities to others, are unique. Using a façade to protect yourself from those seeking to hurt is okay. But when your default is to dance away from everyone because of the actions of a few is when you start to isolate yourself.

I bring all of this up because there are things that happen to you, or things that you feel are impossible to deal with alone. I want you to recognize those who love you and those who don't, so that you can start spreading yourself out.

All the world's a stage, and while I haven't dropped my mask all the way, I can only hope to loosen the string a little at a time.

Remember, those who have hurt you are not those who have to write your script. I'll try to remember it too. It's hard to find someone, (or you can't think of anyone) but therapy is great. I sought it on my Alma Mater’s (go Bulldogs) campus and was just glad to have someone to start to work with. I currently don't have one, but will once I return to Southern California. I say this because I am not ashamed of saying that I need help. But, I also know why people do not. Remember, (I will write this truth many times) if anyone shames you for needing help with something as serious as taking care of your mental health, then reconsider your boundaries with them. Seek those whom love you. You can even seek me out.

Here's one last anecdote: During Pinocchio's run, I became incredibly hoarse due to nodules on vocal chords and my inability to have an indoor speaking voice. Whilst onstage, in the middle of my song, my voice gave out. I started crying but continued as best as I could until intermission came and my understudy finished the show. I was upset. I was embarrassed. I wanted to leave. I stayed, thanks to my mom, and my cast invited me onstage for the curtain call anyways. I had been crying, my mask was off, and I felt miserable, but the audience still applauded anyways.

All my love,

Phil

P.S. I do occasionally place Phil puns in my writing. It is due to my comedic genius.