Today this is the experiment: to be real. Why is it so difficult to do sometimes? Why do I find myself hiding behind a mask that I think others want to see? Why is it so hard just to be me...to be real? Today in the shower I was thinking about this dillema. I kept thinking about the Velveteen Rabbit. When you've loved and been loved so much that your seams are ripped and there is no shine left in your nose and you only have one button eye left that's hanging on by a frayed thread...then you are real. Is it the loving that makes you real? Is it the love that gives you the power to say, (and excuse my French), "To hell with what they think. I'm me and I'm great." Maybe so. It's also something to think about that in the story of the Velveteen Rabbit, it is the love that hurts and exhausts and uses and breaks apart and finally transforms.
1 comment:
The less real I am, the more trouble I have figuring out who I am, until I am confused about which part is the mask and which is me.
Besides which, I only make friends on my "real days." Aren't you glad I took my mask off when I met you?
Post a Comment