Masking

I dread Halloween.

Please don't get me wrong, I LOVE the kids.  I love their seeing imaginations at work in their costumes.  Or their mothers' imaginations... no matter.  Little ones dressed as elephants or gumball machines are impossibly cute either way.  Their high-pitched "trick-or-treats," their pillowcase candy sacks.  I love it all.

It's the adult version of Halloween that I dread.



I know, I know... some people love Halloween.  They cannot wait to break out the stretchy cotton, attempting to transform their home into an arachnid's.  They buy skulls and skeletons on clearance the year before, store them in the specially marked box, and then hang them on their front door.  "Welcome to the House of Death."  Some stop at white sheets with eye holes cut out and jack-o-lanterns, but there are some (c'mon, you know these people) who get way too into the blood and guts and gore.  Deformed masks with one eyeball hanging from an optic nerve, oozing blood?  Psychotic, disemboweled nurses wielding sharp instruments?  

Disturbing.

Then there's the cadre of girls who get in touch with their "inner hooker" on Halloween.  You know these costumes... the skimpier the better.  You can't join this club unless you wear at least a C cup and own a pair of fishnets.  Oh, a girl could be going as Holly Hobby or Little Bo Peep; it won't matter.  The boobs and the fishnets are required.

And yet I've seen some pretty clever costumes along the way... A woman wearing a lamp shade on her head, cardboard tutu around her waist: A One Night Stand.  Brilliant.  Two heterosexual couples in their 30s dressed as the Golden Girls?  Let the good times roll.

But for the most part, I'm bored and/or disturbed by most adults' costumes.  A long cloak with a hood and scary mask?  Suspicious.  Hannibal Lecter in the straight jacket and restraint mask?  Troubling.  (And good luck trying to enjoy a drink.)  French maid?  Boring, Sweetheart.

I hear you, you Halloween Lovers, "Vanessa, would you lighten up?"  (See the comment section on the blog entitled "The Born Identity.")

I get it.  It's fun to dress up.  For you.  I get it.

I suppose my disenchantment with the Halloween festivities goes back to the year my mother dressed me as a bunch of grapes... 

~ ~ ~

"Give a man a mask, and he will tell you the truth." - Oscar Wilde

With all the preparation and fun-making around the Halloween holiday, I've been thinking about masks.  Step into any seasonal Halloween store and you'll find yourself overwhelmed by walls and walls of masks.  If you want, for one night, you can be Richard Nixon, Donald Trump, or Marilyn Monroe.

The question we ask before Halloween: "Who are you going as?" 
The question we ask on Halloween: "What are you supposed to be?"

Because for one night, it's fun.  It's all about pretending, stepping into fantasy, venturing out of our norm and into another facet of our personality.  We get to say, "I'm going to be _____ ... just for tonight."

But what about every other night?  Or every day?

Who are you going as?
"Strong-Leader-(You'll-Never-See-Me-Sweat)"
"Social-Butterfly-(You'll-Never-Know-How-Lonely-I-Am)"
"Happy-Couple-(We-Never-Have-Sex)"

What are you supposed to be?
"Successful-Fulfilled-Financially-Independent-Superstar"
"Contentedly-Single-I-Never-Think-About-Getting-Married"
"Overjoyed-Parent-I-Live-For-My-Children"

Behind our masks, secrets thrive. 

Now here's the thing: we can't take off our masks and show everyone our true colors.  For one thing, people aren't always safe enough to hold the treasure that is our truest self.  For another thing, disclosure isn't always appropriate in certain settings.

But does anyone truly know us?  Do we take off the mask, step into total freedom and acceptance, and say to anyone, "This is who I am."  Who is safe for you?  Your spouse?  A sibling?  A counselor?

What would Oscar Wilde's mask do for the person who wears it?  It would protect him or her in anonymity.  Because in anonymity, there is freedom.  In anonymity, it's safe to be known, because there are no consequences for being who we are.  We have the thrill and freedom of disclosure without the anxiety of shame or the fear of rejection.  Oh, to wear a mask...

But relationship doesn't happen behind masks.  It happens when masks come off.  It happens when we say, "I am terrified, but this is who I am."  What are the antidotes to shame and the fear of rejection?  Grace and acceptance.

What are you going as?  Who are you supposed to be?

Take off the mask.

... Here's a little freebie on the first person to whom you might unmask: yourself.