A Public Face

Throughout my entire childhood right up to the time when I left home my mother would go around the house doing chores without her face on. She would be quite comfortable without it because while at home she was sequestered away form strangers and surrounded by family. When it was time to go out into the world she would say, “I have to put my face on”. Then she would retreat to the bathroom to apply her makeup. In a relatively short time she would emerge looking very different. I always thought it was funny and a little strange when she would announce the upcoming transformation. But there was an honesty to what she said and, all these years later, it stirs this thought in my head. We all have a public face. This is how I put mine on.

I wake most days at 5am without the aid of an alarm. I rise and begin my morning ritual knowing the approximate destination but without a clue as to what scenery will be revealed. My mind and body are still becoming aligned as my semi-unconscious state of sleep gives way to the realities of familiar surroundings. I make my breakfast drinks and take my pills. I walk the hallways of my building taking a survey of my physical condition. Different movements are incorporated into my little dance with the stiffness of age and the damage done by an overly aggressive youth. These are the minutes when I prime the engine of my thoughts with the varied interactions of the previous day. I will then make my bed, do the dishes, and finally sit down at the computer. My body is now loose and usually pain free so without distraction I will now summon my soul. My first key strokes and curser drags are typical each day however the time spent at each destination is not always the same. I check the weather to see if I will have favorable conditions for my next bike riding day. I go into my mailbox to delete all the previous days unwanted inquires; I seldom have an email that matters. I look at Facebook to see if anyone has commented on my last essay, and then check my website to see if there was any viewer traffic. Then I go to the news and this where the opportunity for procrastination presents itself. I tend to hesitate at this juncture because I know that the next place I go will be Pages and that is the place where, through my writing, my emotional self comes to the fore. Once I tap that icon and begin the writing for the day, I will set my inner being free. 

I begin by asking myself the about the previous days interactions that I have already catalogued during my hallway activities. I will inevitably be able to dismiss most of my thoughts and reactions by using the tools of introspection taught to me in therapy. However, and almost without exception, one thought will highlight itself above the others and slowly open the attic of my life. In that dusty room of artifacts and stories I will search for the understanding of how I feel and create a narrative built from the analogous antiques of my mind. When I emerge from that place of personal exploration, I will be ready to write. During this foray into the authentic me, the doors of my emotional self have been laid open by my quest for understanding. I am now completely vulnerable to my personal and unredacted truth. 

As the actual writing begins, I am often vexed by the confusion created by the initial flood of feelings. I am usually able to gain temporary control of the torrent by writing down random thoughts and this is when a theme often emerges. Once in this fragile space a struggle for focus will begin as I attempt to transcribe unfettered emotion into a written narrative. I know from experience that my state of honest clarity will soon be besieged by its mortal enemies of insecurity and doubt which, in my case are forever lurking. So I move as quickly as I can through my labyrinth of feelings until my ability to find satisfying words is exhausted. I then relax for a moment, stare at the screen, edit some of my initial incoherent ramblings and retire to the floor. I am now in a state of emotional rawness and in need of rescue. This is where I put my protective face on so that I can enter the unpredictable and often times harshness of the world. 

I now go to the floor to stretch my legs and back. I will call out songs to Google which are seriously influenced by my state of mind; songs that are of a quiet tenor but are filled with lyrics of consequence. There is a confluence between the words artistically laid forth by the  singer and the nature of my unprotected soul that more often than not will illicit tears. I will not fight the symptoms of my emotional condition because I know my savior is coming in the form physical pain. 

That relief comes during the weight lifting portion of my daily preparation. During the push of the workout’s beginnings, I immerse myself in happy place of muscular fatigue and the painful clutches of exercise. In my tumultuous youth I used the endurance of physical pain to gain the admiration and respect from others but now I summon the pain caused by exertion as a diversion. The shift of attention toward my body and away from my emotions allows the doors of my soul to be closed. The once raw feelings that were allowed to roam free now begin to recede. They retreat into the shadows of my subconscious not gone but waiting for their next brief chance of autonomous freedom. By the time I am halfway through my workout and breathing hard my musical choices change to ones of high energy and less poetic substance. I will look in the mirror and challenge my pain with defiant laughter, personal affront and occasional profanity. I can feel my public face begin to take shape. Mine is not one which is constructed from foundation, eye makeup, and lipstick but is more of a protective-like a suit of armor. It is not the same suit of protection I had as a young man. That suit was much heavier in construction; not only build for defense but designed to take offensive action. These days the armor is thinner and lighter. For the most part it is only capable of defending against the verbal challenges of criticism and negative questioning. As my workout comes to a close and the relief of the physical pain washes over me, I take comfort in the reality that my protective suit is in place. I am now ready for my day in the outside world.

This essay was created in exactly the same way I just described. Brought forth by a questioning of “why I cry so often and how is it that I present such a different public image?". Anyway, I have to go now and get on the floor, feeling quite vulnerable so it is time to suit up in my armor or as mom would say, “Put my face on”. 

p.s.: “Iris” by Goo Goo Dolls got me this morning…