My "Serious Person" Costume: Creating Authentic Spaces

Once upon a time, I used to get dressed up and go to work where I tried to be a real adult who was serious about things and had thoughtful ideas.  I hope I did alright at it, but let’s be honest.  That was a costume put on over this person.  You know, the one who is a little too excited about wearing sweatpants, who curses like a sailor, and knows pretty much every Taylor Swift song.  I’ve been fortunate to craft a life where I can do things I love and also exist without the “serious person” costume on.

I want to create a community where other people can do the same.  Before we really, truly relax into who we are, we have to admit the dirty secret: there will be a moment I look around at my unkempt life and think, “This is as good as I am able to be.”  In that small moment, there is no “who I want to be,” just “who I am.”  No more products or plans, resolutions or routines.

And that’s not a fun place to be.  I’ve heard men talk of the moment they realized that there was no way they would ever play professional baseball.  It was the dying of a childhood dream, however small.  I have my own small dreams.  I want to be graceful, I want to be witty, and I want to know how the hell to keep a chignon from falling into weird clumpy bun.  Maybe I just want to be Mrs. Maisel, minus the neuroses and drama.

But there’s the rub, eh?  I don’t want the drama because what I really want is to be happy.  On the other side of that dirty secret, that “This is as good as I get,” is joyful authenticity.  If we can be humble and honest for just long enough to see the light at the end of the tunnel, then we can see the capital-T-Truth: We have the opportunity for deep down belly laughing joy without changing a single thing about ourselves.  Better than that, we have the chance to welcome people into a place where they can laugh with us.

Now, maybe they don’t want that – authenticity isn’t everyone’s jam.  But it might be a nice break for them.  And of course, we can’t wear sweatpants everywhere (though don’t tell Forrest that).  We have to engage in systems that need us to pretend sometimes.  But once we’ve walked through that tunnel – we feel the costume going on and we can learn how to take it back off again.

What’s your costume?  When do you get to take it off?