Tuesday, April 15, 2008
The Chameleon
I feel like a chameleon. I blend into the background of where I am at any particular moment. I choose to show the real me only when I crave for what I really want or need. And then I step out from the camouflage, very carefully, letting myself be seen and be my most vulnerable. I don't do this often, but when I do, I am afraid I'll get eaten up. And sometimes, when I make myself vulnerable, I do get swallowed up. So I am very, very careful now. Maybe that's why I hide behind the disguises of who people think I am.
It's amazingly personal, yet I don't think I am alone in this. I can choose to be whomever I choose to be at any specific moment in time. My demeanor morphs so easily and willingly, while my soul really remains the same. Everyone knows only one or two pieces of me. I am...
a mother
a wife
a lover
a friend
a confidant
a daughter
a sister
a colleague
a business woman
a student
a teacher
an advocate
People see whatever they wish me to be at that very moment. And I only show them what I want them to see. I am Superman and Clark Kent -- Diana and Wonder Woman -- all at the same time.
No one really knows me. I'm not sure if I even know me. I get lost in all of the constant changing. Am I the sum of all my parts or just a collection of random identities?
I am truly a jack of all trades -- but am I a master of nothing? Or am I just a master at conforming to my surroundings and to the company at hand -- a skill suited to those who know how to survive. I know I am a survivor.
Friday, April 11, 2008
Writing 101
Welcome to my big, big world – all encapsulated in this very little blog. This is a nice efficient use ever of a few bytes of virtual space. Lighter than a paper diary, these blogs are a treat for the voyeur in all of us. One click and we’ve broken into the “secret locked diaries” of our friends. It’s become such a natural thing to do – to pour your soul out to your computer screen.
As I’m writing, I’m thinking about whom I might share this with. Do I keep it to myself and just pass by from time to time to reflect on and laugh at my attempt at introspective writing? Do I share it with my closest friends? Do I really want them to know me that well? I know who I will not share it with. That part is easy.
Now, regarding writing...
When I was young, I was not much of a writer. My life has been riddled with the best of intentions when it comes to writing. As a kid, I received beautiful diaries at my birthday parties from the girls in my class. I would write for a couple of days about school life, friends and the like, then quickly forget to add journal entries as soon I realized that I really didn’t have anything interesting to write. I lived a pretty sheltered, mundane, easy, non-tragic childhood. Days would pass, then weeks, then months, then the diary would eventually disappear – probably into my mother’s closet somewhere. (I still believe she has a stash of all of my secret diaries and notes and pictures of boys and other things I eventually forgot I had.)
During high school and college, writing was not difficult but rather just endured. I would spend the days leading up to my assignments just thinking about the topic and imagining what I would write about. I would procrastinate until the very end. Then after dinner on the night before it was due, I would finally sit down and crank out page after page of my assignments on my prehistoric word processor. I did well. I always finished in time. I got lots of As. It wasn’t a challenge, but I know I could have done better - much better. It just wasn’t that important to me at the time.
After college, I began working for a public relations firm, where my then-boss and now-mentor
Back to the dictaphone...It was at first embarrassing, then I got over it . It became just a task to be endured. But in the end, I realized that it was a blessing. Those endless tapes of dictation taught me how to write. And his endless revisions taught me how to be a solid editor. I learned that writing was just typing what I would say if I was talking -- assuming, of course, that I used proper grammar (which I did), and that I made sense (which I think I did). In the end, I became a fairly good non-fiction writer. Eventually, I got promoted and I would push out press releases, pitch letters, fact sheets, brochures, guide books and some solid press kits. The writing wasn’t fancy and elaborate; it was clear and my clients liked it. I didn’t use many big SAT words. I just explained my topic clearly and logically. I learned how to be a good communicator and I am thankful for that. It has come in very handy in my life.
He also hand-wrote notes that made my doctor’s handwriting look neat. “You’re great” or “congratulations on your hit” or “well done” were typical.
One thing was absolutely true – no one ever forgot that they met
So that awful dictaphone really was my learn-to-write machine and my learn-to-treat-people-well machine. These days I never forget to say thank you, and I never forget to tell people they are great when they are. I’m very thankful for that terrible machine now.
More on Gary another time...