I really appreciate this quote. I would probably pair it with a different image, but the quote is great nevertheless.
I am weird.
I am random.
And I am learning to be who I am.
I am weird.
I am random.
And I am learning to be who I am.
It’s interesting to consider the places I am most genuine, and what that says about me, about those around me, and about what their expectations are and what my perceptions of their expectations are. To quote The Grinch, it’s all “mangled up in tangled up knots.” I can’t really know who others want to see, but I think I know and generally I try very hard to be who it is they want me to be. I’ve been doing it for so long that I’m not entirely sure I know which parts are genuine and which aren’t.
I’m pretty real at home now. I don’t think I used to be. I am as open as a 24-hour Wal-Mart on my blog… though, like any good business, there are back rooms that the public cannot access. I am surprisingly genuine at work… at least, I am in one direction. I am not a bit shy about skipping and grinning and singing and goofing around (all while working very hard, I assure you) while at work… but on my “off” days, I don’t demonstrate the depth of my “offness.” This is appropriate in a workplace, though. The settings that I find most disconcerting, where I should be myself but am beginning to realize that I am not, is church. I could easily write a very long blog post on this phenomenon (far from an isolated instance, I assure you… it’s common across many, if not most, churches, and most members)… but that is not what I set out to write about. Not at all. For now, I’ll just refer you to the song “Stained Glass Masquerade” by Casting Crowns, if you’re interested. (Music here. Lyrics here.)
Anyway. We all do this to some extent, I’m not saying it is abnormal. But I think that the more people-pleasing and perfectionistic a person is, the more they are likely to lose elements of themselves amidst standard social charades. Am I really who I pretend to be? How many me’s are there? Who is the core me?
It’s tempting to dismiss this question with a flippant remark, something like: “It doesn’t really matter, stop worrying so much about who you are and focus more on who God is.” Well, yeah, that’s important. And I hope to grow more into His image each day, even each hour. But that doesn’t negate the fact that He has made each of us unique. It would be wrong to ignore our individuality and make no attempt at discovering the person He so painstakingly crafted to be unlike any of the other billions of souls, the one who is as precious to Him as any of His children, yet could be no more loved even if He had no others. We each mean so much to Him. I cannot wrap my mind around it. But I know that if the Lover of my soul delights in my unique being, I should, too.
I’m pretty real at home now. I don’t think I used to be. I am as open as a 24-hour Wal-Mart on my blog… though, like any good business, there are back rooms that the public cannot access. I am surprisingly genuine at work… at least, I am in one direction. I am not a bit shy about skipping and grinning and singing and goofing around (all while working very hard, I assure you) while at work… but on my “off” days, I don’t demonstrate the depth of my “offness.” This is appropriate in a workplace, though. The settings that I find most disconcerting, where I should be myself but am beginning to realize that I am not, is church. I could easily write a very long blog post on this phenomenon (far from an isolated instance, I assure you… it’s common across many, if not most, churches, and most members)… but that is not what I set out to write about. Not at all. For now, I’ll just refer you to the song “Stained Glass Masquerade” by Casting Crowns, if you’re interested. (Music here. Lyrics here.)
Anyway. We all do this to some extent, I’m not saying it is abnormal. But I think that the more people-pleasing and perfectionistic a person is, the more they are likely to lose elements of themselves amidst standard social charades. Am I really who I pretend to be? How many me’s are there? Who is the core me?
It’s tempting to dismiss this question with a flippant remark, something like: “It doesn’t really matter, stop worrying so much about who you are and focus more on who God is.” Well, yeah, that’s important. And I hope to grow more into His image each day, even each hour. But that doesn’t negate the fact that He has made each of us unique. It would be wrong to ignore our individuality and make no attempt at discovering the person He so painstakingly crafted to be unlike any of the other billions of souls, the one who is as precious to Him as any of His children, yet could be no more loved even if He had no others. We each mean so much to Him. I cannot wrap my mind around it. But I know that if the Lover of my soul delights in my unique being, I should, too.
Initially, this quote made me think primarily of one type of relationship and one type of faking: dating.
It’s easy to think I should present myself in a certain way. I want to get married. I want kids. I want this, I want that. Or at least… I thought I knew what I wanted. But anyway, I want to be loved. We all want that. And I think, “If I am just pretty and polite and soft-spoken and super feminine, and petite and gentle… maybe then he’ll love me.”
I am very few of those things.
I am… what? Well… I am a puzzle. You know the song from The Sound of Music… “How do you solve a problem like Maria?” That’s me. I actually wrote a scholarship essay in high school based around that premise. I am so strange – a jock and a nerd, a social butterfly and a recluse, perfectionistic and appearance-obsessed in some areas, completely unconcerned with aesthetics in others. I could go on and on, but you get the picture. I cannot define myself simply. But I know I am not the single-dimensioned, stereotyped 1950′s housewife that I thought I should be to attract a man who would, basically, give me what I wanted. House. Fence. Yard. Dog. Cat. Kids. And a stable income, so I could stay at home with the children. What I thought I wanted. Before. I’m so glad I didn’tget more of what I thought I wanted before I realized that I didn’t know my own desires at all!
Oh. I’m paraphrasing Sara Groves without realizing it.
She has a song “What I Thought I Wanted” that basically says, “What I thought I wanted, and what I got instead leaves me broken yet grateful.” And that’s so true of the last few years of my life.
It’s easy to think I should present myself in a certain way. I want to get married. I want kids. I want this, I want that. Or at least… I thought I knew what I wanted. But anyway, I want to be loved. We all want that. And I think, “If I am just pretty and polite and soft-spoken and super feminine, and petite and gentle… maybe then he’ll love me.”
I am very few of those things.
I am… what? Well… I am a puzzle. You know the song from The Sound of Music… “How do you solve a problem like Maria?” That’s me. I actually wrote a scholarship essay in high school based around that premise. I am so strange – a jock and a nerd, a social butterfly and a recluse, perfectionistic and appearance-obsessed in some areas, completely unconcerned with aesthetics in others. I could go on and on, but you get the picture. I cannot define myself simply. But I know I am not the single-dimensioned, stereotyped 1950′s housewife that I thought I should be to attract a man who would, basically, give me what I wanted. House. Fence. Yard. Dog. Cat. Kids. And a stable income, so I could stay at home with the children. What I thought I wanted. Before. I’m so glad I didn’tget more of what I thought I wanted before I realized that I didn’t know my own desires at all!
Oh. I’m paraphrasing Sara Groves without realizing it.
She has a song “What I Thought I Wanted” that basically says, “What I thought I wanted, and what I got instead leaves me broken yet grateful.” And that’s so true of the last few years of my life.
The point is: I need to keep learning to be myself. Because that is the person who will attract the person who will love me. Love ME, not the person I am pretending to be. And I don’t just mean a man, not just a husband… just… people. I want to be around people who love the real me, and who feel secure enough in my openness and genuine love for them to show me their real selves in return.
And what I’ve been realizing, as I open myself to those around me, is precisely that. People love those they can know. Isn’t that true? My best friends are those I know best, those I feel I understand inside and out. How can I expect to be counted among another’s loved ones if I never let anyone know me? Hiding or playing hard to get really doesn’t get one anywhere worth being. Pretending to be someone you’re not is worse, pushing you further from where you’d like to be and ought to be.
And what I’ve been realizing, as I open myself to those around me, is precisely that. People love those they can know. Isn’t that true? My best friends are those I know best, those I feel I understand inside and out. How can I expect to be counted among another’s loved ones if I never let anyone know me? Hiding or playing hard to get really doesn’t get one anywhere worth being. Pretending to be someone you’re not is worse, pushing you further from where you’d like to be and ought to be.
And even if I can fake it well… what’s the point? I’d have to keep faking it to keep the masquerade going, and that’s exhausting. And foolish. Why try to make someone love a mask, rather than the real me?
So, maybe, as I unselfconsciously unfurl my tight little Sarah-bud, someone will take notice… and they will see a young woman they want to get to know better, but never would have noticed if she hadn’t opened and blossomed.
And if not? Oh well. I want to get to know her.
And if not? Oh well. I want to get to know her.
